


A Lack of Brotherly Love

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bad brother au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8384338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: After a brutal series of genocide runs, Sans wakes up in an alternate universe where the monsters were saved, everyone is on the surface and the future looks bright…except the fundamental difference in this universe is that its resident Sans never loved or supported his brother. As a result, Papyrus is a lonely outcast, unable to fit in and scarred from years of emotional neglect.
And Sans isn't going to let that stand.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t unfamiliar feeling for Sans to want to sleep and not ever wake up, but in this instance the compulsion was nearly overwhelming. He could feel his subconscious desperately trying to keep him numb and unaware, already threatening to overwhelm him with sorrow and dread and helplessness each time he teetered towards consciousness. It would be so much easier to stay paralysed in stasis, his mind empty and his body still, but as tempting as the idea is there was one persistent thought that wouldn’t allow him to let go completely.  
  
Any moment now, Papyrus would be stomping up the stairs, calling for him to greet the day with work and puzzles and maybe the promise of a few hours goofing off in the forest under the guise of waiting for humans. His little brother would insist on Sans participating, earnest and appreciative of every minute Sans would promise to spend with him since few others could tolerate his brother’s eccentricities and general amazingness for extended periods of time.  
  
Papyrus needed him.  
  
So Sans woke up.  
  
Awareness came to him slowly in a murky, uncomfortable haze. He was in a bed, but not his bed. His bed didn’t stand so far off the floor in a blindingly white room with speckled linoleum instead of carpet. His bed definitely didn’t have a mattress that was firm and uniform beneath his spine, or sheets that were scratchy with starch but otherwise neatly arranged over his frail form. His bed definitely didn’t sit next to any strange machines with wires trailing down into his rib-cage with sensors taped to the surface of his soul.  
  
He spend an unnaturally long minute considering these details, his thoughts feeling oddly scattered and slow. He felt a strange disconnect from his body, like he was feeling everything through a fog. There was another trailing tube that seemed to have been inserted into the marrow of his arm, which strangely didn’t hurt even though he could see the broad needle jammed right into the bone. It felt like there was something heavy pressing on his chest, compressing his ribs, but when he looked there was nothing atop him save for the unfamiliar blanket.  
  
“Oh! Y-you’re awake!”  
  
Sans sluggishly turned his head, having to squint at the unexpected light pouring in through the nearby window. It was painfully bright. Had someone been tweaking the cavern lighting spells again? He squinted, trying to make out the details of the person now standing at his bedside. He could barely decipher the crest of golden spines between hazy streams of light.  
  
“Alph?” he murmured, his voice sounding weak and rusty as if from disuse. Instinctively he tried to sit up but his body felt far too heavy to oblige him. “Where…? Are we at the labs, or…?”  
  
“J-just give me a m-moment!” she gushed, sounding strained but also full of a strange excitement. Sans subsided, watching with a dull gaze as she swiftly punched something into her phone. It beeped at her in acknowledgement, and she put it away before turning back to him with a shaky attempt at a smile. “Uh. So. Sans?”  
  
He blinked slowly at her. “Yeah?”  
  
“You’re Sans?” she repeated uncertainly and, weirdly, as a question. It struck him as kind of bizarre. Usually in a situation like this it was the person waking up with no idea where they were who got to act as if they had amnesia.   
  
“Last time I checked,” he replied drolly, fighting off the heavy weight of exhaustion and the dull throb of a headache now pounding in the back of his skull. “What happened, Alph? Where is this?”  
  
“Um, i-it’s…This is Mount Ebott Private Hospital.”  
  
Sans frowned. That was a weird name. Most doctors and healers tended to choose titles with a more obvious sense of fun, since the mental state of a patient was just as important as their physical health. “We’re in the Capital?”  
  
He couldn’t imagine anywhere else would have such a place, but Alphys shook her head. “No. This is…Mount Ebott township…on the surface. It’s a human town. We’re not in the underground any more.”  
  
The surface. Sans’s brain slowly processed the word and everything that it meant. He’d seen the surface before, he thought…or at least, some other Sans had before the timeline had been reset. He had a picture of proof somewhere down in his basement. That had been so many resets ago, though. The human hadn’t been so kind in…well, there was really no way of telling how long it had been, but certainly not for the last thirty or so resets.   
  
He stared at her blankly, scrambling desperately through his memory for something that would help her words make sense, only to be interrupted by two sharp raps on the closed door across the room. Alphys flinched slightly at the noise, but to Sans, those two knocks were an irrefutable invitation.  
  
“Whose there?” he called back, trying to pitch his voice loud enough to be heard.   
  
He must have succeed because someone’s muffled voice projects through the door. “Me.”  
  
Sans grinned a little, bemused. “Me who?”  
  
The door opened, and the knocker came in. It actually took Sans a moment to recognise them – the short stature, the thick bones, the well-worn hoodie – because it wasn’t particularly normal to see someone who was essentially his identical twin standing in front of him.   
  
“More like _me two_!” the other Sans said, strolling over with much more nonchalance than Sans thought he could manage in such a situation. It was wholly bizarre, looking at his counterpart; like looking into a creepy, warped mirror that refused to mimic his movements. The other Sans beamed at him. “Hey, buddy, don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”  
  
It was definitely him…or else this was some incredibly surreal dream he was having, but the sudden way the world seemed to tilt around him, his intangible stomach dropping in disbelief, it didn’t feel like a dream. He found himself at a loss for words. “W-what…how…?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s wild, huh?” the other Sans asked, expression sparkling with a manic delight. Well, if the circumstances had been reversed, Sans supposed he would have gotten a kick out of seeing a copy of himself spluttering helplessly in shock. “I’ve had a couple of days to get used to the idea. You’ve been out for a while. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”  
  
“I…” Sans glanced down at his chest again, feeling that unsettling weight. He placed a hand tentatively over his sternum, feeling faint twinges of pain. The last thing he remembered was-  
  
Dust.   
  
Red.  
  
Determination.  
  
The other Sans followed his gaze, his expression twisting in sympathy. “Looked like you took a pretty bad hit. We’re all kind of surprised you’re still kicking, considering how low your HP is.”  
  
The way he said it sounded off to Sans, and before he could think better of it he checked his counterpart, looking at his stats.  
  
SANS - ATK 5 DF 5LV 1 HP: 20/20  
 _An easygoing monster. Don’t make him give you a bad time._  
  


The other Sans clearly noticed his check, but seemed unoffended. He winked at Sans’s dumbfound expression. “Yep. Sans the Skeleton. Just like you. So, this might be a kind of weird question, but bear with me here. What do you know about the multiple universes theory?”  
  
Sans jerked at the question, feeling a sickening dread take shape right in the pit of his soul. “E-enough.”  
  
Sans knew far more about it than he wanted to. What the other Sans was insinuating was…this was an alternate universe. One where they had made it to the surface. He took a moment to cradle his face in his hands, ignoring the faint sting where the needle was plunged into his arm. He felt overwhelmed.   
  
“This isn’t…my universe?” he asked hesitantly, feeling the weight on his chest growing heavier, crushing. The edges of his vision were growing dark. Skeletons didn’t even need to breathe, but it felt like he was suffocating.  
  
“Nah. You must have come from somewhere else, and man, you really made an entrance when you fell through! We got all sorts of interesting readings from you–” The other Sans paused, both skeletons becoming belatedly aware that Alphys was making some sort of desperate gesturing that encompassed the machine at the bedside that was now emitting an alarming sort of whine. The other Sans fumbled, putting a concerned hand on Sans’s shoulder. “Uh, hey, pal…you doin’ okay there? Your soul’s getting a little too worked up.”  
  
It felt like something in his chest was crumbling, shattering under the sudden pressure,  but Sans couldn’t seem to reel in his wild, horrified thoughts. What was he doing here? How did he get here? Why was there already another Sans in this timeline already? Had something gone wrong with the last reset? Was he some kind of lost, leftover fragment of an erased timeline? He knew it wasn’t good for his soul, his HOPE, to panic over the situation, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It felt like he was falling, and there was nothing for him to latch on to in order to save himself.  
  
“Damnit,” the other Sans muttered, stepping back. “Alph, should I get a doctor, or-?”  
  
There was a sudden knock at the door. “B-brother?”  
  
The other Sans swore quietly. “Pap, I told you to stay out. This isn’t the time-”  
  
“But it sounds like something’s wrong! Do you want me to go get her Majesty?”  
  
“We don’t need your help, just-!”  
  
“Pap,” Sans whispered weakly, feeling his soul lift with sudden, inexplicable relief. He lifted his head, and there in the doorway was Papyrus, dressed with surprising reserve in a long sweatshirt and patched jeans instead of the battle body Sans was used to.   
  
The other Sans made a tight noise of frustration. “You really need to go-”  
  
“No, wait!” Alphys interrupted, staring hard at the machine. “Um. P-Papyrus. Maybe just…come here for a m-moment?”  
  
The tall skeleton hesitantly obliged, walking as though on eggshells. The other Sans frowned deeply but obligingly stepped back, clearing a space at Sans’s side for Papyrus to occupy. Papyrus looked down at him, and seemed somewhat at a loss for how to react, but Sans instinctively reached out and grabbed the closest hand, squeezing it with all of his fragile strength.  
  
“H-hello,” Papyrus said softly, looking down at him, a very strange expression on his face. Sans supposed that was only reasonable. He was only a copy of this Papyrus’s brother. Behind the familiar face he was a complete unknown, practically a stranger.  
  
“Hey bro,” Sans croaked, feeling something painfully dislodging in his chest, and to his absolute horror he felt a wave of despicable, chaotic emotion rising up – something poised between relief and unbearable sorrow. Papyrus was alive. He was safe. He was on the surface. He knew nothing about the horrors of the resets or the murderous human child.   
  
(But this wasn’t his brother. His brother was back in his own timeline, possibly alone and very confused right now.)  
  
He felt guilty for being consoled by this, but it was hard to begrudge Papyrus – even one from another timeline – any measure of happiness. Sans felt his sockets burning, painful tears welling up, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. “I’m r-really…glad to see you…”  
  
He didn’t want to break down, not here, not yet, in front of people he maybe didn’t really know, but the sight of his brother was enough to knock him violently back into the harsh uncertainties of his situation. He sobbed, trying to turn his face to the pillow to at least muffle the awful noise of it. Through his blurring vision, Papyrus looked positively thunderstruck, like he had no idea how to react.   
  
“Is that making it worse?” The other Sans asked from somewhere behind Papyrus, his voice oddly flat.  
  
“No. It’s…better,” Alphys said, adjusting her glasses and looking away as if to provide Sans with some semblance of privacy during his breakdown. “I guess he just needs to…cry it out?”  
  
Sans made a desperate, broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and sob. Papyrus looked unnerved, but this finally seemed to jar him from his uncertainty, and he leaned over Sans, petting his skull reassuringly, trying to sooth him. The Great Papyrus could never ignore someone in need, after all, not even unsettling alternate versions of his brother. His brother was so cool.  
  
“Sans,” Papyrus murmured gently, brushing away his tears. It was strange, being touched by his brother’s bare phalanges. Papyrus had almost always worn gloves back in Snowdin.   
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Sans stuttered back, trying to compose himself. It was easier to be strong, or at least, to pretend at strength, when his brother was around. He managed a watery grin. “Didn’t mean to go to pieces on you there. Seems like there’s not a lot holding these old bones together.”  
  
It was a poor joke, but it still earned a small snort from the other Sans, and a very concerned look from Papyrus. “It’s fine, bro-uh. Sans. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Tired,” Sans admitted. Everything hurt and it felt like he’d just cried out the last of his energy with that pathetic little display. He couldn’t even grip Papyrus properly, but thankfully the other hadn’t let go of his hand.   
  
“You should rest some more,” Alphys said, her voice sounding a little stronger and more authoritative. “We can talk when you’re feeling better.”  
  
The other Sans said something too low for him to catch, but Alphys quelled whatever it was with a surprisingly stern glare.   
  
Papyrus’s expression was compassionate. He squeezed Sans’s hand. “Get some rest, brother.”  
  
Sans wanted to point out that Papyrus had slipped – they weren’t really brothers – but the emphatic, protective note in Papyrus’s voice was enough to assure his instincts that all was right with the world. He passed out almost immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

His next waking was much less difficult, aided by the soft murmur of Papyrus's voice providing a low drone of familiar, comforting noise. Someone must have given his brother some pointers on modulating his inside voice, because for once Papyrus was managing to keep his tone low and level without the usual bubbling undercurrents of emotion. For a while Sans just let the words wash over him in an indistinguishable blur, but eventually he roused enough to make out what his brother was actually saying and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a fond smile.

Papyrus was reading him Fluffy Bunny's adventures.

Sans slowly let his eye-lights manifest. The room was much less confronting now that the sun was no longer glaring through the window. The curtains had been drawn, and the lights were dim, forcing Papyrus to hunch over the book in his lap, squinting as he focused on the pages. His words a little halting but persistent. Funny, he'd have thought Papyrus would know the book back to front now, just like Sans did after so many repeated bedtime stories, but maybe Papyrus had always been focused more on the familiarity of the act rather than the actual story. It was instinctively comforting, and Sans found himself at loathe to interrupt, listening contentedly as Papyrus narrated Fluffy Bunny's courageous escape from the wily fox that had been stalking their warren.

It was several minutes later when Papyrus finally glanced up and promptly spluttered, dropping the book on the floor and reeling in surprise to find Sans's eye-lights focused on him. “You're awake! I thought you were-! I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you but Doctor Alphys told me that it would be better for you to know I was still here even while you were asleep and I couldn't think of any other way to do that except to talk to you but I wasn't sure what to talk about and I hope you don't mind that I chose a children's book but they didn't have many choices in the waiting room and I didn't want anything too serious, I-”

Papyrus had to stop and gasp for breath, and Sans tried to offer him a reassuring smile to belay any more frantic babbling. “It's cool, bro. You know I'm a fan of Fluffy Bunny.”

Papyrus's eye-sockets went absurdly round. “Y-you are?”

“'course,” Sans agreed easily. Mostly he'd been a fan of how easily it had always put his brother to sleep, particularly when Papyrus had been younger – an utterly inexhaustible babybones who was a little too boisterous to be trusted without Sans's supervision. Putting him down for a nap was the only way Sans could get any peace. Moving carefully, he patted the bedside Papyrus had been leaning against. “Don't leave me hanging now. You were just getting to the good part.”

Papyrus hesitated, looking oddly reluctant. “I really should get Doctor Alphys. My brother told me to notify her the moment you woke up again.”

“It's the middle of the night, bro,” Sans pointed out gently. “Let her sleep, yeah? I'm not going anywhere.”

He wasn't exactly looking forward to the inevitable interrogation or delving back into the scattered mess of his memories. Just thinking of it made his soul pulse warningly, still aching and fragile from his first awakening. The pain made him feel weak and sluggish. Even keeping his eyes open was an exhausting task, and it was very tempting to just let himself drift off again. He might have done so, except after another moment of hesitation, Papyrus sat back down beside him, his face earnest and concerned.

“Are you...in much pain?” Papyrus asked, his gaze unconsciously drifting down to Sans's rib-cage. Sans hadn't taken much notice before, but there was an itching constriction that suggested the presence of bandages beneath the flimsy hospital gown he was wearing. He had a suspicion he knew what sort of injury they were covering, but tried not to think on it too hard. He didn't want to remember.

“Mmm,” Sans hummed dismissively, not wanting to draw any more of Papyrus's concern than necessary, but an outright lie wouldn't have been very convincing when he doubted he could even sit up on his own. He settled for a half-truth. “More tired than anything.”

Papyrus looked around as if checking for other listeners before turning back to Sans with an oddly hopeful expression. “If you like, I could try healing you some more? Doctor Alphys says that we can only do a little at a time because of your, ah...delicate condition? I'm not very good yet, but I might be able to help!”

Sans couldn't help but frown a little, the words striking him oddly because as far as he could remember, Papyrus had always boasted being _great_ at healing. He took pride in it, having both excellent control over his magic and large reserves of energy to be quite proficient at it. It was, in fact, one of the few areas of magic where he excelled far more than Sans did. Hearing this Papyrus confessing a far more modest talent at it was...strange.

Papyrus must have misread the consternation in his expression, because immediately his face fell, his entire posture slumping. “I m-mean, if you would prefer me to call for one of the doctors I'm sure I can find someone for you! Of course you would probably prefer a professional, even if they might be a human. I'll just-”

“Pap,” Sans pleaded, forestalling any further recriminations. When Papyrus wouldn't look at him, Sans painfully reached out an arm to catch hold of the other skeleton's elbow. “It's fine. I'd rather it be you.”

He really, really would, particularly if a human doctor was the alternative. He didn't think he wanted to deal with any humans just yet, especially while he was essentially helpless.

Besides, seeing Papyrus's brightening expression was all the affirmation he needed to know he'd made the right choice. “Really?”

“Yeah. Please. It'd help a lot,” Sans told him, and even if this wasn't the same Papyrus of his own universe, he absolutely _shone_ under Sans's plea and the reassurance that he was needed, the way his own brother had. Warmth flooded Sans's soul, driving away some of his fatigue, and he reached up to push away the blanket to give Papyrus access to his ribs. He fumbled with the neckline of his gown, trying to figure out how to unravel it, only to find Papyrus's larger hands sliding over his own.

“Let me help!”

Papyrus had no trouble at all unlacing the tie behind Sans's neck, gently peeling back the sleeves and folding down the thin cloth to leave Sans's chest bare. Sans took one grim look at the diagonal swathe of bandages across his torso before averting his gaze, focusing instead on Papyrus's determined expression.

With absolute care, Papyrus brought his fingers to rest against Sans's sides, but even the lightest of pressure made Sans hiss, a tight shudder working up his spine. Papyrus glanced at him worriedly, hesitating long enough for Sans to wonder if maybe he'd lost his confidence and changed his mind, but after a moment light gathered under his hands and warm magic bled into Sans's bones. The relief was almost immediate, pain fading to a dull, distant throb, and with a long sigh of breath Sans went limp under Papyrus's gentle ministrations.

It wasn't quite the forceful healing he remembered from all the instances his brother had used on Sans in the past. Sans knew how to avoid injury, so he rarely took more than the occasional bruise (usually from falling off the couch in his sleep; there was a reason his bed was close to the floor) or aching joint from too much time spent in the cold, but his own Papyrus had needed little encouragement to assist. Healing was a very useful skill for a soon-to-be guard to posses, after all. His healing, though always tightly controlled, was a flood of exuberant magic that often left Sans buzzing for hours afterwards with tingles in his bones. This Papyrus was much more subdued, which honestly, Sans was rather thankful for. His magic was a steady stream of light, soothing energy that leached away the tightness in Sans's chest and finally allowed him to breathe a little easier.

Normally Sans didn't have any trouble accepting a healing, but given how low his magic reserves felt, it wasn't surprising that the doctors hadn't been able to do much for him. Too much foreign magic flooding his body would have done more harm than good, tearing away at his physical matter rather than holding it together. The most effective healing always came from a loved one – friend or family member, it didn't matter so long as there was an honest bond in place. Even if this wasn't his Papyrus, Sans's magic accepted him readily, and the feeling of connection as their magic intermingled help his soul lose some of its tightly wound tension.

He let out a small murmur of contentment, blinking slowly up at Papyrus. “Mfph. Feels good, Pap.”

A light haze of magic dusted Papyrus's cheekbones in a soft flush. “I'm so glad! I've been very worried about you, bro-uh. Sans?”

Papyrus wore an odd, bemused expression. Sans offered him a lop-sided smile. “Hey, I could be your bro too, if you want. If you don't mind having another lazy bones in your life.”

Papyrus's sockets gleamed with a tremulous light of heartfelt emotion. “I would...like that.”

Except without warning he suddenly burst into a fit of tears that Sans might have felt completely unprepared for, except that with Papyrus's magic still pouring into his own he could feel that the primary emotion driving him was relief, not sadness. Sans reached upward wordlessly, and it seemed to take little encouragement for Papyrus to collapse over him in an awkward but careful hug that carefully avoided the damage carved into Sans's ribs.

“S-sorry, I just...I know you're not my brother, but you look just like him and when I first saw you, you were so...badly hurt. No one was sure you would even be able to wake up again, and I wasn't sure if-!”

Sans hummed sympathetically, gently petting the top of Papyrus's skull the way he did when his brother had a bad day or one of his own rare nightmares. The stream of healing didn't cease; if anything, it felt stronger than before, fuelled by all the pent up emotion Papyrus was expressing, and if Sans had wondered if he would be little more than a stranger to this Papyrus...well, his fears were allayed by the unabashed sincerity he could feel in that devoted outpouring of magic.

Beneath the initial flood, however, he could feel the underlying exhaustion in Papyrus. Knowing his brother as he did, he doubted Papyrus would have been sleeping; especially not if he'd been requested to stay with Sans in order to help keep his soul stable. He resolved to have words later with his other self about taking better care of his bro, even in these circumstances. Papyrus could easily stay up for days on end, filled with the frenetic energy of worry or excitement, unless Sans staged an intervention.

Speaking of which...

“Hey,” he said, carefully squeezing Papyrus's shoulder-joint to get his attention once his initial fit had subsided into soft, almost soundless hiccups. “Since I'm feeling better, how about I read you the rest of that book, huh? I bet your voice could use a break.”

“Uhngh?” Papyrus made a confused, congested sound, finally sitting up and rubbing self-consciously at his face. He glanced down at the floor where the book had fallen earlier. “I...it's not necessary. It's a children's book, anyway, I'm sure you'd much rather-”

“Hey, Fluffy Bunny is a classic. A story for all ages,” Sans argued fervently, wondering where Papyrus's sudden reluctance might have spawned from. “Besides, you _did_ leave off at the best part.”

“I did?” Papyrus wondered, slowly bending to pick up the book again, staring at its cover with a faint expression of intrigue.

Clearly this new universe wasn't identical to his own if Papyrus had never been introduced to the adventures of Fluffy Bunny. Sans faintly wondered how his other self had managed to settle Papyrus down as a babybones instead. Maybe they'd started on the puzzle-building books early, which was why this Papyrus seemed abashed at being associated with something meant for a much younger audience.

It almost made Sans feel proud to be the one to induct Papyrus into this particular tradition.

He carefully shuffled over on the hospital bed, making space beside him and patting it invitingly. “Come on. You wanna know how Fluffy Bunny takes care of the fox, right?”

“I...suppose,” Papyrus allowed, shyly moving into the offered space, his body language awkward and oddly stiff against Sans as if he wasn't used to the closeness.

Or maybe he was just feeling shy about their newly instated brotherhood. Sans pressed against him unabashedly, taking the book and angling it so Papyrus could see the pictures. “Comfy enough?”

“Y-yes?” Papyrus said, sounding uncertain.

Sans hid a grin, clearly his throat as he began to read. By the end of the first page, Papyrus's skull was leaning against his own as the taller skeleton stared at the pages intently, following along with the story. By the end of the third page, his body had gone entirely limp as he fell entirely asleep. Sans had to hold back a laugh so as not to shake him awake.

“Works every time,” he mused to himself, feeling thoroughly satisfied as he set the book aside and curled up against the familiar shape of his brother's side, falling easily into a deep slumber of his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Sans’s body tried to fight against the rest it desperately needed. Although he didn’t dream, or at least couldn’t remember if he did, he kept finding himself lurching back to half-awareness, tasting sour nausea in the back of his throat and his soul clenching with panic. His subconscious was a mess of unresolved anxiety that kept trying to overwhelm him whenever he let his guard down, but every time he neared waking he felt a reassuring pulse of soul resonance reaching out automatically to sooth him.

Papyrus’s magic was synonymous with safety and comfort. Just a light touch and he felt himself settling immediately, his fear and anxiety leeching away enough for him to settle back into a light doze until the next time they reared up again. Throughout the night, Sans only caught snatches of fragmented sensation with each waking. The warm and bony press of Papyrus against his side, the soft whistle of breath through his brother’s teeth, the tickle of long phalanges entwined with his…but despite Sans’s interrupted rest, he didn’t actually think Papyrus woke up throughout any of it. All his responses to Sans’s distress were unconscious but immediate. Even asleep, he was taking care of Sans.

That realisation was enough for him to finally sink into something close to real sleep in the early hours of the morning when light was starting to creep back in through the window. Sans caught a glimpse of it and watched with dazed awe as the angle changed with the rising of the sun – much more meaningful now that he’d realised what it was – and then heavy exhaustion pushed him back under and his mind was blissfully dull and silent.

It was the kind of deep sleep that left him muddled and lethargic, resisting the pull of consciousness even as he became dimly aware that the weight against his side was no longer present. Papyrus had moved.

Something else had changed too. A subtle feeling of unease in the air, breaking his coveted peace. He felt his sockets squeeze shut more tightly, almost wincing from the unwelcome intrusion.

“What are you doing?”

The intrusion came with a voice; one Sans thought he should recognise, but it sounded…wrong. Unnatural, somehow, like the distorted audio that came off the tapes Alphys sometimes found in the dump.

“A-ah! Is it…m-morning already?”

That was Papyrus. He was still nearby. That was almost enough to settle Sans back into deeper sleep except that Papyrus’s voice didn’t sound quite right either. He sounded strangely upset. Sans wanted to check on him, but even though he was dimly cognizant of his surroundings, he was having some trouble connecting his consciousness back to his body.

“Geeze, Pap. I only asked you to do one simple thing. I’m actually impressed you managed to screw it up.”

“W-what? No, I didn’t mean to…”

 _Wake up_ , Sans felt his subconscious trying to pressure him. _Wake up. Papyrus needs you_ …but now that something was actually happening instead of the ghosts of memories playing tricks on him, he couldn’t seem to manage it. Everything felt far away and surreal, as if he was dreaming. Dimly he felt the slight weight of the book being removed from his lap.

“So he woke up, and you didn’t call Alphys either, huh? The one night I needed you to stay awake to keep an eye on him…and you fall asleep? You _never_ sleep, even when you’re supposed to.”

“I d-didn’t…H-he…he asked-”

“S t o p  t a l k i n g.”

It was only then that Sans finally recognised the unfamiliar voice. He very rarely used that particular tone with anyone, and never with his brother, but it was _him_ …it was the other Sans, sounding cold and sharp and disappointed in a way that was almost cruel. Sans didn’t even know his voice _could_ sound like that.

There was a terse silence, and then a deep sigh, followed by a shuffle and the oddly distinct clink of coins rattling against each other. “Here’s some change. There’s a vending machine down the hall. Get lost for a while, yeah?”

“B-brother, I’m really sor-”

“Just get out.”

It wasn’t that his counterpart even raised his voice, or even let much emotion creep into his tone. The lack of it was somehow more unsettling. There was an immediate scuffle of retreating footsteps and then another emphatic sigh breathed into the new silence. Sans’s soul clenched again, and this time there was no answering murmur of reassurance to placate him. The jolt of that absence finally flicked some trigger in his subconscious, and he managed to reel his awareness back from its strange floating state and jerked awake with a small gasp.

“Whoa there, buddy. Easy now.”

Sans’s eyelights flickered rapidly in his sockets, a reflex synonymous with confused blinking as he tried to force his vision to clear more quickly. His memory of the last few minutes was a hazy slurry, the details blurring together, but there was something important nudging insistently in the back of his mind.

Something about Papyrus.

But Papyrus wasn’t in the room any more. The only occupant was the other Sans, who was smiling at him easily, a hint of relief on his features. Sans frowned at him for a moment, faintly recalling the after-image of sharp words. He thought he’d heard something like a fight going on, but if that was the case, surely his counterpart wouldn’t look so at ease.

“Where’d Pap go?” he asked, his voice rasping with exhaustion and weakness. He tried to sit up a little but found his spine wasn’t quite up to the task. Thankfully the other Sans noticed his attempt and moved to assist, deftly adjusting the pillow and helping Sans to make himself comfortable.

“He’s taking a break,” the other replied, his voice mild and unconcerned. Sans fought for a moment against suspicion, but his counterpart’s expression was utterly guileless. The echo of harsh words he thought he’d heard…Sans supposed he must have dreamed them.

“Good,” he said, letting his shoulders go slack, relieved. Relieved the hurt he’d imagined in Papyrus’s voice hadn’t been real. Relieved that his other self was looking out for his bro after all. He felt compelled to add, “He did a great job, y'know. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for him.”

“So you’re feeling better?” his other self asked with a cheered expression. “'Cuz if you are, I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t mind if the Doc could run a few tests on you. I know it’s a pain, but…we’re all kind of curious how you got here. Our Royal Scientist hasn’t been able to calm down all week.”

He waved a hand as if indifferent to it, but the grin on his face spoke otherwise. There was a strange affection there that Sans felt odd. He liked Alphys, sure, but they’d never been close, exactly. Not enough to put that odd expression of fondness on his own face which was especially strange to see from an outside perspective.

He was curious, though, to know what had happened. To find out how he had crossed universes and what it might mean for his own world as well as the one he was currently inhabiting.

“I…guess,” he agreed hesitantly. “Sure. As long as all you need me to do is just…lie here. I don’t think I’m up for much more than that.”

“You don’t need to be _up_ for anything. That’s all we’ll need,” the other Sans told him with a wink. “I figured you’d just prefer us to ask first before turning you into a guinea pig. Since you’re me, and all. Though honestly, I’m not sure I could hold him back much longer. You know what he’s like.”

“'Appreciate it,” Sans agreed, grinning a little at the pun before his mind belatedly caught up to the rest of that sentence. Wait a minute. _He_?

Before he could ask, the other Sans had already backed up to the doorway and was calling out into the corridor, “All right, Doc, he said yes…but go easy, okay?”

“Excellent,” a rich-timbered but oddly inflected voice replied, unfamiliar but _familiar_ and _oh hell_. Sans stared in numb shock as a tall, slender figure nearly twice his other self’s standing height strode into the room, a conflicted expression of impatient excitement on his scarred, pale face. That was definitely not Alphys, as he’d been expecting. “Though I’m sure we’ve already lost significant data from the time lost between the inter-dimensional entry and now. Really, Doctor Serif, you should have let me start earlier.”

Not every word was spoken aloud. Several were formed in gesture by a pair of magical hands floating in the orbit of their owner, making for a very disjointed conversation. Sans felt lost, but not because he’d been unable to understand the stranger’s words. He’d had years of practice at it, after all, even if he hadn’t utilised that particular skill in quite some time.

“Sorry, Doc,” his counterpart said, sounding entirely unrepentant. “You know how it is. Gotta watch out for your alternate universe selves and all that.”

The Doctor – Gaster – sighed. “An unfortunate courteous notion that I regretfully concede you are entitled to. No matter.” He finally turned his attention fully on Sans, his expression one of rather unscientific glee. “I thank you very much for allowing me to…oh.”

Gaster paused, finally taking in Sans’s expression. He’d never been the most astute monster when it came to the feelings of others, but even he couldn’t help but notice Sans’s hollow-eyed expression of shock.

“Erm.” The floating hands made slow, uncertain gestures as Gaster fumbled. “Doctor Serif. Your assistance, please.”

“What?” The other Sans glances over and starts, visibly taken aback. In the next moment, he’s at Sans’s side, squeezing his wrist in an attempt to ground him. “Hey, pal, what’s wrong? You okay there?”

Sans hated this. His soul was so weak that even the slightest shock made him feel like he was spiralling. His chest felt tight again. The world was going dark-

-darker-

-yet darker-

“…think you’d…get your brother,” he heard Gaster say, unable to catch the full sentence without watching the hands, but his eyelights had gone out and it felt like he was drowning in the shadows inside his own skull.

“Right,” his counterpart said, and with a pop of magic he was suddenly gone from the bedside.

Sans felt a hand on his forehead, dimpled unnaturally by the hole in the palm.

“Be calm,” Gaster murmured, oddly soft. He reached out carefully with his magic in a very gentle, entreating touch, but Sans’s soul instinctively recoiled away because the last time Gaster had reached for him it had been an act of agonised desperation that had left Sans scarred for years in the aftermath.

Thankfully his other self reappeared a moment later, accompanied by Papyrus’s indignant squawk of surprise. “B-brother! What-!?”

“We need you to do your thing, Pap,” the other Sans said, his voice clipped with urgency. “Other me is having a meltdown.”

Immediately Sans felt hands on his shoulders, and the rush of Papyrus’s magic crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. Despite the analogy, his presence loosened the awful tightness in Sans’s chest, and with a painful gasp his body lost all its tension and collapsed limp against the pillows. It took several long seconds for him to recover, violent trembles wracking his body as he blinked his vision clear again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled to Papyrus, hating that he was so weak, so dependent. With Papyrus here, though, he could manage to look up at Gaster and it didn’t feel like the world was about to be sucked into the void again even though he couldn’t quite repress a cringe. “S-sorry.”

“It is of no consequence,” Gaster told him, looking somewhat abashed. “I…apologise for distressing you.”

“Yeah, uh…” His counterpart was hovering nearby, closely scrutinising Sans’s face. They caught each other’s eyes, and Sans felt the power of his own perceptive glance being turned against him. The other Sans recoiled slightly, looking perturbed. “I think he, uh. Wasn’t expecting to see you, Doc.”

Gaster frowned. “But you announced my intention to-”

“Uh, no,” the other Sans interrupted. “I mean. At all.”

Sans nodded tightly, breathing harshly through his teeth. “Accident. At the core.”

“Oh!” Gaster said, sounding more intrigued then aghast. “Fascinating.”

“Guess we didn’t really stop to think about what differences there might be where he came from,” the other Sans said with a grimace. “My bad.”

“You couldn’t have been expected to know, brother,” Papyrus said quietly, his hands still pressing carefully against Sans’s chest, hovering over his soul to help project his empathy and assurance into the smaller skeleton.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Pap,” the other Sans said, his voice unexpectedly harsh. It made Papyrus flinch, which in turn made Sans scowl at his counterpart even though his tremors.

“H-hey, don’t be like that,” he said, feeling defensive on Papyrus’s behalf. He’d have been angrier, but  the sour emotion was being stubbornly quelled by Papyrus’s soothing aura.

Thankfully Gaster spoke up, “I agree, Doctor Serif. There is no one at fault here, and no reason to take it out on your brother.”

His counterpart deflated slightly, scrubbing at his sockets. “Sorry. Just. Damn. Sorry, bud. I didn’t mean to put you through something like that.”

“S'fine,” Sans managed. It was hard not to feel sympathy at the clear guilt he could read on his own mirrored face. Now that his panic had passed, though, he felt exhausted all over again. His body hurt. He just wanted to sleep more. “Uh. Rain check on the test thing? I think I’m gonna…”

He’d have struggled more to stay awake, but his body was already surrendering to the promise of security and healing Papyrus offered. He vaguely heard Gaster make some sort of reply, but the word was lost as he slipped under again, his last waking memory the sensation of Papyrus’s hand slipping back into his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Sans could honestly say he was trying his best -- or at least something very close to it -- to recover as quickly as possible, but without much notable success. As far as he could tell, Papyrus practically had to stay glued to his side, constantly on hand to help sooth Sans’s uneasy sleep and brace him during the scant hours he could manage to keep himself awake. The few times he’d left to give the doctors some space to attend to Sans, the small skeleton had felt himself teetering on some unspeakable brink, threatening to fall into complete hysteria or senseless catatonia.

“These symptoms were very common in the early days of our exile underground,” Gaster informed him helpfully. His second visit had been preceded by a lot more warning and mental preparation. Sans’s counterpart insisted on being present to supervise, and argued vehemently against any of the tests Gaster wanted to perform that might be too invasive. Sans felt touched that his other self was so intent on looking out for him even though Gaster seemed exasperated by what he called ‘Doctor Serif’s unnecessary precautions’. “Soul instability frequently stems from significant emotional trauma, generally accompanying feelings of confusion, fear, anger, grief and despair. The turbulence you are experiencing from your time-space displacement makes it an understandable reaction.”

“Sure,” Sans agreed easily, one hand absently resting over his sternum as if he could ease the painful tightness in his soul. He was happy to accept that explanation without being forced to expand on all the other reasons why his soul was on the verge of shattering to pieces.

“I had a chance to study the phenomenon in extensive detail,” Gaster continued, his expression oddly sincere. He tried to smile reassuringly. “Though extreme cases can lead to a monster falling down, there are several means of treatment with proven effectiveness including positive meditation, light exercise, participation in leisure activities, and of course the physical and magical reinforcement of familial, platonic and romantic bonds.”

Sans couldn’t help throw a grateful look at Papyrus, who seemed slightly abashed by the acknowledgement. He looked away, although his hand tightened around Sans’s reflexively. Touch helped immensely, and even though Papyrus sometimes seemed too shy to initiate, Sans made a point to reach out to him whenever he was awake.

“That reminds me,” his counterpart remarked, looking up from his book which appeared to be a heavy tome on interdimensional theory. Judging from the way he kept snickering at the pages, Sans suspected there was a joke book hidden inside. “I brought up your situation to the King and Queen...uh. They’re still around in your universe, right?”

Sans swallowed down an uncomfortable, non-existent lump in the back of his throat. Asgore had still been alive, waiting beyond the doors of the Judgement Hall. The Queen…

He shook off the uncomfortable feeling of sorrow. “Yeah, uh. The Queen left a long time ago, back when the Royal Children died, but everyone was pretty sure she was still around even if nobody knew where she was.”

That might have been true before the anomaly came through, at least. Sans didn’t know for sure if she was really gone, but considering how many others had fallen, he didn’t hold any hope for her.

“So that much is the same,” the other mused. “She left, but when the barrier was broken, she came back to help govern because of all the changes going on. She’s setting up a school here on the surface too.”

Sans nodded. Something about that wasn’t wholly unfamiliar; like it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. He’d often had moments of deja vu like that in the Underground, which made sense, knowing about the timeloops. His mind shied away from the implications, and he focused very hard on the points where his phalanges scraped smoothly against Papyrus’s.

“Anyway, the Queen wanted to come and see you...to say hi and talk about some official things. It shouldn’t be very scary. Do ya think you’d be up for that?”

In some ways, it was aggravating to be constantly reminded of his own fragility, but looking into his counterpart’s face he saw nothing but sincere concern. Sans sighed heavily.

“Should be fine,” he agreed, hoping it was true. There was really no way of telling in advance what might send him into the throes of another episode, but as long as Papyrus stayed, he’d probably be okay.

“Excellent!” Gaster said with buoyant enthusiasm. “I am sure such a visit can only aid your recovery. And since you appear to be feeling stable enough for the moment, if I can perform just one more test…?”

Both Sanses groaned with almost theatrical exasperation. As close as he was, Papyrus must have been able to sense that not all of Sans’s fatigue was feigned because he timidly spoke up, “U-uh, Doctor Gaster, I think it might be better to continue tomorrow. It’s almost time for Sans’s check-up.”

It was almost funny how disappointed Gaster looked. Sans had forgotten both how eccentric and expressive the Doctor could be when he was thoroughly into his work. His other self was quick to take advantage of Gaster’s distraction, deftly using magic to juggle several of the small examination devices Gaster had brought with him and funneling them back into the Royal Scientist’s case. “Come on, Doc, you’ve got plenty of data to work with today. We’ve got important science to do back at the lab.”

“Oh yes!” Gaster agreed, cheering up almost immediately. “In fact, I have several new theories I would like to test based on the unusual properties we witnessed the resonance field and-”

His counterpart discreetly winked at Sans as he all but pushed Gaster out the door, the scientist still rambling agreeably about his ideas. Sans thought it was a little strange the other didn’t even bother to say a proper goodbye to his bro, but then again dealing with Gaster was probably enough of a handful. He felt obliged to make up for it by turning back to Papyrus and letting some of the tension deliberately drain out of his body.

“Thanks, Pap. You really saved my skin.”

“Sans, you’re a skeleton. You don’t even have skin,” Papyrus scolded, looking serious until he caught the corners of Sans’s mouth twitching in amusement. He faltered, looking bewildered. “Wait, was that a joke?”

“Yep,” Sans agreed with a light chuckle. Papyrus must have been pretty tired not to recognise it. Sans couldn’t imagine that his counterpart hadn’t told that one at least a hundred times before, just like Sans had. His own smile faltered slightly too. Papyrus had been at the hospital for days now, practically glued to Sans’s bedside instead of being out and active and surrounded by people like he should be. Normally the lack of productivity should have been driving his brother nuts, but he was being remarkably patient about it -- almost subdued. It worried Sans more than he cared to admit, but he’d always been afraid that his fragility might eventually become a burden on his brother.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even obscure the downward turn of his thoughts. His soul quivered unpleasantly, radiating his distress and compounding it further. Papyrus gave him a startled look. “Sans?”

Sans was about to reassure him when a knock at the door distracted them both. A monster nurse peered in, smiling brightly. “Hello boys! Sans, it’s time for your check-up!”

“Sure,” Sans said, thankful not to have to put his painful thoughts into words for his brother. Getting more upset about his situation wasn’t going to help either of them.

His primary doctor was a human, which Sans thought was odd, but apparently the use of magic in medicine was still an area of questionable application that hadn’t yet been sorted out between the two species. Monsters didn’t have enough resources on the surface to have their own dedicated hospital yet, and for the severity of Sans’s condition, the use of the human facility had seemed necessary.

The Doctor herself was perfectly friendly, though, allaying most of Sans’s fears. She was politely confident and entirely professional as she checked Sans over, relying on the Nurse’s information about his HP and stats and gently asking Papyrus about Sans’s sleeping habits. Papyrus seemed more at ease around her than he had been with Gaster, which counted for a lot in Sans’s book.

“I think it might be time to remove the bandages around your ribcage,” the Doctor noted, carefully inspecting the wrappings from different angles. “The wound has closed, although I’m afraid there will be some lingering scarring.”

“Okay,” Sans said, letting the words wash over him without letting anything sink in too deeply. It was still deeply unsettling in ways he didn’t want to think about to have a human touching him, especially around his chest.

He felt Papyrus’s hand slip from his as the other skeleton pulled away. “I should wait outside…”

Sans fought down his automatic protest, reminding himself he should be trying to work up to some form of independence, but the Doctor looked thoughtfully between the two brothers and said, “Actually, it might be best for you to remain for now. Your presence is a valuable stabilising factor, which might be needed.”

“Nyeh? How so?” Papyrus asked, but the Nurse was quick to shush him, urging him to sit down again so she and the Doctor could get started.

Sans was numbly grateful for it as he was guided to sit up so the Doctor could begin unwinding the bandages. For a moment he thought he must have given away something in his expression for the Doctor to have taken pity on him by asking Papyrus to stay, but as the first of his ribs was revealed he made the mistake of glancing down and realised exactly why the Doctor had thought he might need an emotional anchor.

‘Lingering scarring’ was something of an understatement. The gouge along his chest was a deep, dark notch etched deeply into the bone. It started near his right shoulder and carved viciously down towards his left hip, bisecting the sternum. It was especially harrowing because in most cases, Monsters didn’t adopt scars the same ways humans did. The physical matter of a monster was much less static, and in many ways was just a reflection of their souls and experiences. Scars weren’t caused by physical means, but by the enduring intent left behind when one truly intended to cause harm.

He faintly remembered hearing the story of how Undyne had lost her eye to one of the earlier fallen humans. How their fear and anger against monsters had cut her so deeply that some part of her was permanently impaired, unable to be healed by even the strongest of the Underground’s healers. Her resolve to protect the Underground was rooted in that scar, and one of the reasons she was so admired by the people was because she had turned that weakness into a strength.

But looking down at his chest, Sans could see nothing but the evidence of senseless hatred, and the sheer strength of that feeling reflected in the depth and ugliness of the scar left behind was almost overwhelming.

“Hah,” Sans huffed, his chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering wound. Dark spots were dancing in his vision. He could almost feel the lingering malice that had guided the knife through his chest, that gleeful desire for violence and ruination that had taken so many lives and very nearly his own…

Someone was talking. He could hear voices, but they were very distant and quiet, almost as if they were in another room. He nearly convinced himself they didn’t matter until Papyrus’s worried face hovered in front of his own, his mouth moving to voice words that Sans couldn’t hear over the rush of numbness. He blinked forcefully, making himself concentrate hard.

“--going to be okay, Sans, the Doctor says your HP isn’t dropping and there’s no signs of infection or fresh cracking around the wound...oh! Can you hear me, brother? Can you say something?”

Sans nodded groggily, emitting a weak wheeze of sound before he managed to find his voice. “Y-yeah. Sorry, sorry. Didn’t think I would…”

He pitched sideways, but thankfully Papyrus’s arms were there to catch him, wrapping him in a fortifying embrace. The pressure of his brother’s arms somehow made it possible to breathe again, deep inhales helping to bring the world back into focus.

“Vitals are stabilising,” the Nurse reported, snapping Sans out of his reverie. He weakly turned his head to see the Doctor forcing a smile despite the tension in her posture.

“Excellent work,” she praised Papyrus. “Your presence here is clearly invaluable. Your brother is lucky to have you.”

Sans offered a rickety grin. “S’true. Pap’s the best.”

“R-really?” Papyrus asked, sounding strangely awestruck. Sans had always found it endearing, the way his brother reacted to a genuine compliment.

Sans tried not to feel guilty that it was much easier to continue with Papyrus’s arms around him, holding him steady. He closed his eyes, breathing in the comforting scent of Papyrus’s bones and the sweet undertone of laundry soap on his sweater while the doctor finished unwinding the last of the bandages. The injury still ached but it probably always would. There was no fresh pain, and the Doctor sounded satisfied as she concluded the rest of the wound was sealed and safe. She warned him it might be tender, and to take care not to exert himself or put unnecessary pressure on his ribs.

“No problem,” Sans agreed, pointedly keeping his gaze away from the injury. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to look at it again. “Pap’ll tell you I’m a lazybones anyway. Taking it easy is what I do.”

He expected Papyrus to reply with either a heartfelt agreement, or some outburst about the pun, but there was a perturbing silence that quickly made him look to the taller skeleton’s face. Papyrus’s expression was one of fierce scrutiny, and unlike Sans, he was staring down directly at the scar as if trying to memorise the shape of it. Sans even felt one of Papyrus’s hands moving as if to touch the mark before he clearly changed his mind and placed it back on Sans’s shoulder.

“Uh...” Sans felt oddly embarrassed. He looked beseechingly at the Nurse. “Could I get a shirt or something? Feeling a little bare boned here.”

“Yes, of course!” she agreed and scurried off to find him something.

He risked another glance at Papyrus, whose expression was still fixed on his chest. Sans felt magic prickling at his cheekbones in a discomforting flush. “You don’t have to look at it, Pap. It’s not real pretty.”

“It must have been a very marrow-ing experience,” Papyrus agreed solemnly.

It took Sans a moment to register the words, and when he did he couldn’t help but snort gracelessly with poorly contained laughter. He hadn’t expected that at all. He looked up again to see Papyrus gazing down with soft adoration in his eye-lights.

“And I disagree, brother, I think it is extremely pretty! Pretty impressive. Pretty amazing...that you have been so strong and brave about it.”

“Heh,” Sans laughed, unexpected tears prickling at his eye-sockets, but this time his soul didn’t feel like it was going to rupture from sadness. “Thanks, bro.”

Papyrus squeezed him tightly, radiating admiration and love, and Sans practically melted against him, his self-consciousness draining away. He still appreciated it when the Nurse returned several minutes later with a flimsy hospital gown for him to wear, but even when the light fabric pulled lightly over the crooked edges of the scar, he found he didn’t mind the reminder of the wound too upsetting.  
  


* * *

 

“Sans,” Papyrus began uncertainly. “I’m not sure you should-”

“It’s…hnnnngh-! Fine,” Sans gasped, laboriously inching his legs over the edge of the bed. He’d been lying down so long his toes felt numb and useless. He ignored the prickling tingles, slowly rotating his ankle joints. “I might just…need to lean on you a bit…”

Normally he’d accept any half-baked excuse for continuing to lie down, but guilt had finally overwhelmed his usual apathy. Papyrus hadn’t left the hospital in days, offering only a strained and meek refusal whenever Sans tried to encourage him to go take in all that fresh air and beautiful sunlight they now had access to. He could tell from the worry in his brother’s sockets that Papyrus was concerned about leaving him alone, so if the only way to get him to leave was with Sans at his side then so be it.

He was staring down at his feet, trying to figure out if they would manage to hold his weight or simply collapse under him when a resounding impact thumped against the door.

“Knock knock!”

Sans brightened with unexpected vigor. He recognised that voice…and the invitation it implied.

“Who’s there?” he called back.

“Dozen!”

“Dozen who?” The anticipation of a good joke was almost as good as hearing the punchline, even if beside him, Papyrus let out a very long-suffering sigh.

“Dozen anybody want to let me in?”

Sans chuckled heartily, but Papyrus let out a belated squawk of chagrin and leapt towards the door, throwing it open.

“I’m so sorry, your Majesty, I should have let you in at the first knock,” Papyrus babbled hastily, stepping back to let their visitor enter the room. He lowered his head in deference, eyes on the floor.

“That’s quite all right, Papyrus,” the newcomer said gently, her brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “That wouldn’t have made for a very good joke.”

Sans had never laid eyes on this monster before, but at the same time, somehow, in some other universe, he was sure he had. There was a strange sense of deja vu as he looked at her, and not just because she reminded him keenly of King Asgore with her tall, powerful frame and her soft white fur. Even without the faint echo of lost memories, he could have easily guessed who she was.

He’d never suspected her identity when he’d encountered her as a voice on the far side of the strange door in Snowdin forest. It was a little bizarre to think he’d spent all his time telling terrible jokes to the former Queen.

Though it wasn’t ‘former’ any longer, if his other self has been correct. He blinked bemusedly at her before turning to regard his inert legs. “I’d uh…stand and bow for you, but I’d probably fall on my face.”

Queen Toriel laughed, a melodious, endearing sound. “That is perfectly fine. I prefer not to  _stand_ on ceremony.” Her regal brow gave a suggestive wiggle, and Sans nearly doubled over with laughter. Adopting a slightly more sober expression, she added, “My current title is one of necessity, not preference. Papyrus, dear?”

Papyrus snapped to attention with painful looking rigidity. Sans had never seen his brother looking so wound up and nervous. Certainly no one felt that way for more than a few minutes in old Fluffybun’s presence. Toriel gave off a similar aura of warmth and acceptance, but that didn’t seem to be calming Papyrus at all as he gave an awkward salute. “Yes, my Queen!?”

“I was hoping to speak to Sans on some delicate matters. Would you mind allowing us some privacy?”

“Yes of course, your Majesty,” Papyrus agreed immediately, although a moment after he’d spoken he hesitated, looking at Sans with regret. “I, uh. I mean. If that would be all right with Sans. You see, his current condition is…”

Papyrus looked more stressed and guilty with each word he spoke, clearly not comfortable denying the Queen her request even as his conscience demanded he stay at his brother’s side. Sans spoke up quickly to rescue him from his fumbling explanation.

“It’s fine, Pap. I’m doing much better today, see?” He gestured to himself, sitting upright and mostly steady. It was a pretty solid improvement over the last week of intense convalescence.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine for a short while,” Toriel agreed, and although there was no hint of condescension in her voice, Papyrus flinched as though there had been.

“Yes of course!” he squeaked unevenly. “You are absolutely right. My apologies, your Majesty. I’ll just see myself out…”

The last word Sans could only hear faintly from down the corridor, Papyrus already almost beyond hearing as he all but fled.

“Goodness,” Toriel said, closing the door over. “He is a very strange monster.”

Normally Sans wouldn’t let anyone get away with even implied insults against his brother, but he thought he knew his friend from beyond the door well enough to tell she meant it in the most earnest way possible.

“He’s the Great Papyrus,” Sans surmised sagely, making her chuckle fondly.

“I see.” She approached him, carefully situating herself in the chair Papyrus normally occupied to put herself more equitably at his level. “Though I believe his concern for you is well justified. How are you feeling?”

Her soft brown eyes inspected him thoroughly, somehow managing not to feel invasive or judgemental. She was really something. Sans did his best to shake away his dopey grin, offering a careless shrug.

“Eh. Better than ever. At least in this universe. I’m guessing the other Sans told you about what’s going on?”

“Yes. I admit, many parts of that explanation were quite difficult to comprehend, but Doctor Serif explained that it may not be simple to return you from whence you came. He wanted me to assure you that we will do our best to assist you as much as possible, and until then you are very welcome to stay within our Kingdom. You will be treated as any other monster under our protection.”

Sans gave a weak grin. “Thanks, your Majesty. That’s real swell of you.”

He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t grateful. Not that he’d thought the Royal Scientist might try to claim him for a test subject and keep him for an experiment – Gaster was dense at times, but not cruel – but it was nice to hear that Toriel still intended to look out for him. He wasn’t her Judge or her subject or her friend, but the sincere concern in her expression couldn’t be argued with.

It was only that the brief mention of trying to return him where he came from made something unpleasant clench in his soul; an ugly knot of dread and despair. Thankfully Toriel was continuing to speak, unaware of his private anguish.

“Now that your life is no longer in danger, both Doctor Gaster and I believe that your healing process would be best assisted by a more…comfortable environment.” She gave the sterile walls of the hospital room a look of frank disdain. “This place may assist ill and injured humans, but it’s not as beneficial for our kind.”

“Heh. It’s not so bad. Except for the food. I don’t think anyone here believes in the healing powers of good pie.” He winked at her, and was gratified to see a small smile return to her face.

“Our foremost concern is your health and comfort. I know that we are mere acquaintances at best, but Doctor Serif is my friend and I believe you and I may have shared a similar connection back in your universe of origin.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and her smile softened into something more sincere.

“The most beneficial environment for you would be to remain with those you feel a strong connection with, to aid your body and soul in healing. Should you wish it, you would be welcome to join the King and I at our new residence. It’s far more modest than the Palace you may remember from the Underground, but it is comfortable and serves our needs here on the surface…And of course, Doctor Serif insisted he is more than happy to host you as well, although I am unsure if you would find it too peculiar to share a space with…yourself?”

“Tibia honest, he seems like the kind of guy I’d have a lot in common with,” Sans told her with a wink. “Might be better to stick with what I know, y’know?”

The bone pun surprised a little giggle-snort out of her – a noise he was definitely going to have to try aim for again – but although she nodded there was a lingering hesitance in her expression, as though his answer hadn’t been the expected one.

“Just so you are aware, Doctor Serif and his brother are currently cohabiting here on the surface. Will that present any problem?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “No? Why would it be?”

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to him that his other self and Papyrus  _wouldn’t_  still be rooming together. Doctor Serif was probably a fun guy, sure, but Sans’s real motivation for sticking with him was mostly so he wouldn’t be separated from Papyrus. He wasn’t sure his soul could handle that.

For the first time, Toriel looked mildly uncomfortable, her fangs pressing uncertainly against her bottom lip. “Forgive my presumption. I’m just aware from my long association with Doctor Serif that his relationship with his brother has been a difficult one. I thought the same might be true of yourself.”

Sans’s brows knit together in consternation. Their relationship was ‘difficult’? What did that mean, exactly? But even as he thought about it, he could see there had been little signs of something amiss. Serif could be kind of short with his brother, a bit harsh, even. And Papyrus always seemed especially subdued and placating when Serif was around.

They never touched either, Sans realised. He hadn’t noticed at first because Papyrus was definitely very happy to be physical with Sans, holding his hand, petting his skull, leaning together on the small hospital bed…but Serif and Papyrus were usually separated by at least half a room. They hadn’t engaged in a single hug or brotherly back-pat in the entire time Sans had known them.

Huh. Weird.

“Nah. Paps is the best,” he told her without reservation. “He’s been real good to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she told him sincerely. “He seems like a very earnest monster, just…very difficult to get to know.”

He thought of the way Papyrus had spluttered and fled from the room earlier, and couldn’t exactly argue with her appraisal. “He’s always had a bit of trouble making friends, but he’s the coolest monster I know. I’ll introduce you two properly next time.”

It usually only took a little encouragement to get Papyrus to come out of his shell, and after that, he was full of enthusiasm and fun. Maybe he was a bit more nervous in this universe because his older brother was still a hot-shot scientist, and probably too busy to jape around as much as Sans had during his much less demanding tenure as a sentry. If the two of them were having some kind of brotherly trouble, Sans felt pretty confident he could help them work it out. It would be the best way to thank them for putting him up for a while.

“Then I will let Doctor Serif know your decision,” Toriel told him, rising from her chair with a stately grace. “He should be able to visit you again tomorrow, and you can make plans to relocate to his residence. I’m sure he’ll be quite pleased.”

“Thanks for coming ‘round to see me,” he told her. “And for…everything else, too.”

“Of course, dear.” She gave him a sweet, sympathetic smile. “Please concentrate on getting well. I will see you again soon.”

He watched her go, feeling oddly wistful as the royal purple of her robes swept down the corridor. It felt bittersweet to appreciate the idea of getting to know her whilst simultaneously mourning the friend he had lost in his own universe. He was so deeply submerged in his thoughts he didn’t notice Papyrus’s return until he was shaken by the shoulders.

“Sans! Are you alright?”

Sans blinked, focusing his eyelights and staring up at the concerned countenance of his new brother. Impulsively, he threw his arms around Papyrus’s slender middle, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Hey bro. Missed you.”

“Nyeh?!” Papyrus seemed startled by the abrupt contact, but very quickly melted into the embrace, readily soaking up the offered affection. “Sans, I was only gone for twenty-two minutes and thirty-four seconds. That’s hardly enough time for you to miss me…”

The scolding was familiar and fond. Sans hid his smile against Papyrus’s sweater. Whatever trouble Serif and his brother were having, Sans couldn’t imagine it would be difficult to solve. Papyrus was the best, after all, and the most important thing in his life. Surely that was the one resounding belief he and his alternate would have in common.


	5. Chapter 5

Sans’s ‘moving day’ came with unexpected swiftness. The Doctor declared his health delicate but stable, and was willing to release him alongside an exhaustive list of restricted activities which included everything from swimming to lifting weights of more than five pounds with either his arms or his magic. It was a Doctor-approved permit for utter laziness. Serif leaned against Sans’s shoulder, looking over the list with melodramatic longing.

“I wish I could get one of these. Gaster’s always getting me to shift the lab equipment because ‘ _gravity-defiant locomotion prevents stress on delicate machinery_ ’.” Serif signed out the phrase with a hilariously accurate rendition of Gaster’s hand motions and inflections. Sans spluttered a surprised laugh.

“Y’know, technically this has your name on it,” Sans pointed out, tapping the sheet.

Serif’s eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “Huh. So it does. You’ll have to let me take a copy later.”

The two shared nearly identical grins while the attending nurse gave them a playfully reproving look. She presented her clipboard and tapped it pointedly with a pen. “No exploiting hospital documentation, gentlemen. Now if you can just sign the paperwork here and here, we’re all done!”

Sans took the board, drawing a loose, incoherent scribble that only vaguely resembled his name. It was difficult enough to stay standing and upright during the lengthy process of discharging him; expecting any precision from his shaking hands was asking for too much.

“Finally,” Serif said, equally exasperated by the wait. “We good?”

“Just one more thing,” Sans said. “As, uh, much as I’m loving the refreshing breeze this thing has going, can I get my old clothes back?”

He gestured down as his hospital gown, which left an uncomfortable amount of his spine and legs showing. Even for a monster with very little concern for either temperature or modesty, it wasn’t the most appropriate thing to be walking around in.

The Nurse checked her clipboard. “I’m afraid it says here all your personal belongings were disposed of during the emergency procedure. Apparently it was too torn and, um…dirty to be salvaged. The only items in the pockets were a broken mobile phone and three small condiment packets which were also thrown away.”

Sans let out a disappointed sigh. He’d really hoped he might get his jacket back at least. It was his favourite. “Ah. Well, thanks anyway.”

Serif put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, pal. When we get back home, I’ve got you _covered_.”

They both snickered in unison. The Nurse rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad to know you a- _dressed_ that problem already.”

“OKAY THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, GOOD LUCK OUT THERE,” the Nurse said loudly, turning on her heel and walking away. She’d spent enough time around Sans and Serif to know it was hard to stop them once they got started.

“She seems pretty _pun_ impressed with us,” Serif noted solemnly.

“Not everyone _pun_ derstands our humor,” Sans agreed.

It took a minute to get their sniggering back under control. Serif regained composure first, straightening up. “Man, having you around is gonna be a blast. It’ll be nice to have some friendly company at home.”

Sans was tempted to get carried away with another pun medley, but Serif’s words gave him pause. Now that he’d been looking for it more closely, he kept seeing signs that might have been oblique slights from Serif towards his brother. Did Papyrus not count as ‘friendly company’? Or was Sans reading too much into a careless comment?

Before he could think of a nonchalant way to question it, Serif proffered his hand. “Ready to go? I know a shortcut.”

Sans momentarily forgot his doubts, feeling oddly delighted. It felt like Serif was sharing a secret with him, but one they both knew all too well. Besides, he’d never been taken along on someone else’s shortcut before. “Sure.”

There was always a scary, exhilarating moment in the space between shortcuts where everything went dark and it felt like his body was plummeting in freefall, but when his thin hospital slippers hit carpet on the other side the landing was unexpectedly gentle. Sans wavered for a moment on his feet before regaining his balance, distractedly grateful for Serif’s hold supporting him.

“Nice,” he approved. If anything, he thought Serif’s shortcut might have been even smoother than his own. Had he practiced them more, or was he just working hard to impress? Almost immediately Sans discarded the latter thought. He wasn’t really the kind of monster who worked at impressing others.

Lifting his head, he found himself now standing in the middle of a well-lit study, all the furniture moved back against the walls to make space for a small, low bed that seemed oddly perfect for Sans’s stature.

“The Queen helped me find this one for you,” Serif told him, grinning in blatant fondness at the mention of Toriel. “A short mattress for a short skeleton.”

“No kidding,” Sans quipped, hobbling over to the bed on his aching legs while Serif snorted at the pun. “Oof. Okay, that was way too much standing for me today. I’m done.”

“The Doctor did tell us you’d probably still sleep a lot,” Serif noted, pulling out his phone to check the time. “We’ve still got a couple of hours before lunch. How about you take a nap and I’ll bring back Grillby’s later?”

Sans’s eyelights threatened to shape into small stars of admiration. “That’d be great. Thanks, pal.”

The hospital food really hadn’t been that bad, but nothing could beat a burger from Grillby’s. Sans was salivating at just the thought of it.

“No problem. I have to run some files over to the lab since you took my study. You gonna be okay on your own?”

“Sure…uh, wait. What about Pap?”

Serif gave a careless shrug. “He should be back from the hospital in a while. Don’t worry about it. He shouldn’t disturb you in here.”

Sans’s expression faltered. He hadn’t been worried about that…more of the opposite, he was starting to feel that small knot of unease in his chest that only Papyrus’s presence seemed to be able to sooth. It was probably best if he started trying to wean himself off his dependence on Papyrus though. It wasn’t really fair to ask so much of him. “All right then. Thanks.”

Serif left him to get settled, and Sans carefully eased himself into the unfamiliar bed. The mattress was the perfect combination of soft and supportive, much better than the hard hospital bed. He sank under the covers with a sigh, letting his eyes drift close, his thoughts drifting.

Naturally, they drifted to Papyrus. Was he driving back from the hospital in a bright red sports car? Sans had always promised himself that the first thing he’d do on the surface was locate the car of his brother’s dreams and get it for him. Surely Serif would have taken care of that already, since what little Sans had seen of the house suggested all the furniture was new and modern. Working with the Royal Scientist must still pay pretty damn well.

He dozed for a while, his mind hazily trying to imagine the expression Papyrus might have worn when receiving that car. Surprise, joy and disbelief…had Serif taken a picture? Sans sincerely hoped so. All his years of planning and saving surely deserved at least that much of a pay-off. The last time he’d delighted his brother with an excellent gift (a fully intact copy of Fluffy Bunny’s Adventure in the Cornfield) his eyelights had actually popped out of his skull in shock. He’d always regretted not catching that on film.

Several times he nearly managed to drift into proper sleep, but his senses kept jolting him back to alertness, straining in the silence of the house. It was too quiet. Without the hospital’s  background murmur of activity, or Papyrus’s much nearer, more comforting presence, Sans couldn’t convince himself to relax. Eventually he gave up with a disgruntled huff, rolling stiffly out of bed and limping towards the door, feeling like a skeleton three times his age. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well go down and wait for Papyrus to come back.

The living room was also newly furnished, and Sans felt a fleeting, whimsical disappointment to find a study looking blue sofa instead of the sagging, green one they’d had Underground. Then he got close enough to inspect it properly and realised the small dot-like patterns were actually a vast expanse of stars across the fabric, and he felt much more at ease. He sat down, appreciating the plushness of the cushions, wondering how Serif had talked Papyrus into such an indulgent purchase. Maybe the stars had won him over too.

It would have been a perfect place for napping, but Sans resisted the temptation, curiously looking over the rest of the room. It was exceptionally tidy, and he could easily identify Papyrus’s fastidiousness at work in the placement of coasters on the coffee table (at precise 1/6th increments around the circumference) and the books stacked on the shelf (arranged by height and colour, then sorted alphabetically). His eyes darted to the space beside the TV, but there was no companionable sock to give the living room more life. He supposed the brothers must have given up that tradition when they left the underground. Their pet rock was missing too, but maybe it had been placed outside to better enjoy the sunshine.

There was a remote sitting on the stand beside the sofa. Sans grabbed it idly, thinking to create a comforting murmur of background noise in the empty house, but the moment the television flicked on his soul jumped up to his throat in surprise.

There were _humans_ on the screen.

If he’d stopped to think about it at all, he would have realised how ridiculous it was for that to shock him. They were on the surface now, and had access to all the broadcast media humans generally enjoyed. A quick flick through the channels proved that unlike the Underground with its single entertainer and limited productions, human television had a dizzying array of shows, each one brimming with humans.

Humans in business suits talking in serious monotone. Humans gathering outside in an open park. Young humans clapping their hands and singing loud and off-tune to a simple song. Humans in police outfits pulling out their weapons as they stormed a building alongside a tense violin crescendo.

Humans with _guns_.

Humans with _knives_.

He fumbled for the off button with one hand while his other tried to press down on his throbbing soul as if to keep it from vaulting out of his chest. His scar seemed to burn, like hot, fresh marrow was seeping out from his bones, but a panicked examination showed that the uncomfortable dampness was just sweat, not blood.

He was being stupid. It was just television. Actors playing a role. And each human was their own person. One bad experience didn’t mean that all of them were callous murderers…

Sans curled up tightly, pulling his femurs with painful tightness to his chest and burying his face in his knees. His soul was aching. His body trembled with an audible clatter. “O-okay. Bad idea.”

Without Papyrus’s steadying influence to calm him down, he had to concentrate hard on slow, deep inhalations. He tried counting to fifty, and then doing it again except in increments of pi. The exhausting juggle of decimal points eventually placated him enough that he dropped into a light doze, slowly listing against the nearby armrest. It was a shallow, unfulfilling nap, and he snapped immediately back to alertness some indefinite time later when he heard a small pop of displaced air that was accompanied by the distinct smell of salty grease and sweet tomato.

“Heya,” Serif said, peering down at him with an amused grin. “I guess the couch is as good a place as any to _star_ -t napping.”

The pun only managed to elicit a wan smile from Sans. “Heh. _Sofa_ -r as I can tell, it’s pretty comfy. Nice find.”

“Sure was,” Serif beamed, and held out a bag that radiated the glorious warmth of Grillby’s. “Here’s lunch.”

“Thanks.” Sans took it automatically, but in contrast to his earlier enthusiasm, the thought of food made his soul roil unpleasantly. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep anything down for a while. He glanced around, but aside from Serif, the living room was still empty. “Hey, is Pap not back yet?”

“Hm?” Serif glanced around more indifferently. “Guess not. Maybe he had something else to do.”

Sans opened his mouth to object, unconvinced that Papyrus would have prioritised anything other than seeing Sans home safely after how attentive he’d been in the hospital, but it struck him that Papyrus’s life had basically been on hold the entire time he’d been caring for Sans. Maybe he had other commitments – a job, training, some new project – that he’d been neglecting for far too long already. He swallowed his words, and tried to quell the unsettled feeling in his soul. “Huh. Good for him. Don’t suppose you know where he mighta gone?”

“No idea.” Serif pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Sans silently hoped maybe he’d announce a message from Papyrus to put his mind at ease, but all Serif seemed interested in was the time. “Shoot. I need to get back to the Lab again. Enjoy your burg!”

Without waiting for a reply he vanished again through a shortcut. Sans breathed a disappointed sigh, setting the bag on his lap and peering into it dubiously. It was his favourite, of course; the greasiest, most illicitly satisfying burger on the menu nearly buried in a forest of fries, with dozens of ketchup packets scattered over the top. His empty abdominal cavity gave a small lurch of want, but he knew from his experiences at the hospital that if he tried to eat before his soul calmed down he’d just end up throwing it back up again. He set the bag aside, grateful that Grillby’s magic would keep it hotter for longer.

Serif’s brief visit had done little to settle his nerves. In fact, the more he thought on it, the more peculiar he found Serif’s complete disinterest in Papyrus’s whereabouts. Papyrus was a grown skeleton, sure, but Sans had always liked to keep tabs on his brother in the underground as much as he could without seeming overbearing, and in Snowdin the possibility of danger befalling Papyrus was slim. The surface was so much larger, and so full of unknown factors. Hadn’t Serif thought of all the possible ways his brother could come to harm? Or was it just Sans’s own troubled experiences making him paranoid?

But even discounting humans as a possible threat, so many other things could go wrong. What if Papyrus was in an accident? A car accident? Why had he never considered that when planning to fulfill Papyrus’s lifelong dream? He also remembered that the surface was much more prone to extreme natural hazards than the underground due to the more variable weather and geography. What if there was an earthquake? A hurricane? A tornado? He remembered watching a very old and water-damaged film with Alphys one time about a girl who had been whisked away, house and all, to a completely different land.

In some distant corner of his mind, he was rational enough to realise his thoughts were ridiculous; hysteria induced madness left over from his earlier panic attack. He tried dredging up every statistic he could remember about how unlikely some of these disasters were, with mixed success. Some of them only made it worse, like remembering that it was considered much more likely to die in a car accident than an aeroplane crash. He was filled with sudden, unfathomable regret that he’d built his brother a race car bed instead of an aeroplane bed when surely the latter would have been safer.

There was definitely no possibility of further sleep. Sans couldn’t even bring himself to leave the couch, only vaguely aware of the room slowly dimming around him as the sun descended from afternoon to evening. It was impossible to tell how long he stayed like that, but just as the darkness was becoming too heavy to see, he was finally jarred from its crushing silence. There was absolutely no words for the intense relief that flooded him when he heard the faintest scraping of footsteps outside followed by the quiet turning of a key in its lock before the door swung open. Sans madly untangled himself from his anxious hunch, scrambling to look over the back of the couch.

“Pap!”

His frantic shout made Papyrus glance up from the act of pulling off his boots, sockets wide. He barely had time to straighten up in order to catch Sans as the small skeleton launched himself at his brother, completely heedless of his exhaustion or injuries.

“What happened!? Are you okay!?” Sans frantically ran his hands over Papyrus’s arms and shoulders, checking him over.

“S-Sans?” Papyrus sounded bewildered. He didn’t seem to know how to react to Sans’s fussing, staying still and unresponsive except to flick the nearby light, bathing the room in brightness. “You’re…here?”

“Of course,” Sans replied, equally confused. “Today’s the day they let me out. Didn’t your bro tell you?”

A conflicting look passed over Papyrus’s expression – an unsettling mix of enlightenment, hurt and guilt. “N-no, he…he must have, um. Forgotten.” At Sans’s darkening expression, Papyrus was quick to add, “But I am very glad to see you! I confess when I heard you had left the hospital, I thought…”

The soft, uncertain way Papyrus allowed his sentence to trail off nearly broke Sans’s heart. He pulled the taller skeleton down into a firm embrace. “I wouldn’t go anywhere without telling you, Pap. I figured your bro had explained that I’d be staying with you guys for a while.” Clearly he hadn’t, which was an issue he would have to attend to shortly, but right now he had more pressing questions. “Where have you been? Your bro thought you’d be home hours ago.”

Papyrus jolted minutely, something unfamiliar flashing across his face. It took Sans a moment to recognise it. He’d never seen his brother scared before. “Is he angry?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Sans was quick to reassure, but the tension didn’t immediately drain from Papyrus’s posture. “We were just worried. What happened?”

Papyrus sucked in an uneasy breath. “W-well. I went to get some breakfast like my brother told me.”

Sans nodded, remembering. Serif had shooed Papyrus out almost immediately upon his arrival with more change for the vending machines. Sans hadn’t objected; Papyrus had been long overdue for a break, his tall posture starting to slump from the discomfort of snatching naps alongside Sans’s hospital bed. He also hadn’t wanted to subject Papyrus to all the exhausting paperwork he and Serif had needed to sift through.

“And when I came back to the room, both of you were gone. I thought you must have gone for a check-up, or that…maybe something had happened. Maybe your injuries had gotten worse and you needed to go back into surgery!” Papyrus looked earnestly distressed at this idea, his jawbone trembling slightly. “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I thought the best thing would be to wait for you to come back in case you still needed me.”

The last words were almost mumbled as Papyrus ducked his head, a small, flustered blush appearing on his cheeks. Sans rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, conveying without words as much as possible, _of course I need you_. “How long did you wait?”

“Two or three hours?”

Sans stared, his eyelights vanishing.

“Then one of the nurses found me and asked what I was still doing there. Nyeh heh…she…told me I had to leave because they needed the room for another patient. When I asked where you’d gone she just told me that you’d left, and that she couldn’t say any more because I wasn’t your…family.”

“Oh geeze, Pap.” Sans latched onto his brother’s ribs, hugging him tightly. “Of course you’re family. I dunno why she said that.”

“I mean…officially…on paper…” Papyrus gave a helpless shrug. He still didn’t seem to know quite where to put his hands, but eventually settled them carefully on Sans’s back. “It seems I did not pass whatever standards she deemed necessary for me to know, so the only thing I could do was come home.”

Sans frowned, pulling back. “Wait, if you were only at the hospital for a couple of hours…where were you the rest of the time? You didn’t come straight here?”

“Well I tried, but…the bus route was very confusing!” Papyrus flushed more, looking flustered. “And I only had a small amount of change left from my brother, which was not enough to purchase the ticket I needed so I had to walk the rest of the way. The hospital is on the other side of the city, so it was…not a short distance.”

Sans’s expression must have looked faintly aghast, because Papyrus hastily reassured him, “It was a good walk, though! Very refreshing! My brother does tell me I need to get out more.”

“Does he?” Sans’s voice was flat. His eyelights still had yet to reappear, and this seemed to distress Papyrus, who looked like he wanted to scoop Sans into his arms but also like he was too apprehensive to do so.

“Don’t…don’t be mad,” Papyrus said in a small voice, so meek and timid that Sans’s fury disintegrated under a tide of protectiveness. “I’m sorry-”

“Hey,” Sans interrupted as gently as he could. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad, see? I just…missed you. And I was worried. And I wish you hadn’t had to do all that.”

And Papyrus wouldn’t have if Serif hadn’t intentionally kept him out of the loop. Sans had more than a few choice words for his alternate, but his highest priority was wiping that anxious look off Papyrus’s face.

“You missed me?” Papyrus echoed hopefully.

Sans gave him the widest, most sincere grin he could muster. “Yeah. What would I do without my coolest bro taking care of me?”

Small sparkles of pleasure glinted in Papyrus’s eye sockets. “Nyeh! I see! Well, then surely you must allow me to continue doing so!”

“That’s the plan,” Sans agreed, swaying slightly on his feet. His soul was finally starting to unclench, the anxiety seeping away in Papyrus’s presence. He finally felt like himself again and not some broken, desperate shell of a monster.

“I can start by making you a nutritious dinner!” Papyrus declared, taking a proud step forward before halting. “O-oh. Unless…you’d rather eat Grillby’s…?”

Sans spared the bag of take-out a condemning glare. “Actually, I’d much rather have your cooking, bro. It’s better for my health, right?”

“Right!” Papyrus agreed excitedly. “I’ll get started right away!”

“Go ahead,” Sans said with a reassuring wink. “I’ll come keep you company in a bit.”

Papyrus had perked right up at the prospect of cooking, and Sans watched him head for the kitchen with a fond smile before turning away and letting a hint of his real expression show. He could hear movement upstairs which meant Serif must have returned from the Lab at some point, though he had yet to show his face. Before Papyrus encountered him, Sans was going to have a pointed **_t a l k_**  with his other self since it seemed he needed to be set back on the right path.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before beginning this chapter, I want to just take a firm authorial stance on one of the subjects I’ll be tackling with this fic. While some of the darkfic I write is definitely intended to be of the titillating variety (see all the copious horror porn and non-con I have in my archives) I think it’s usually pretty clear that I don’t actually endorse abuse, enslavement, rape, underage sex or anything of the like. One of the core themes of this fic is familial abuse, but the focus here is much more on verbal abuse and emotional manipulation rather than anything physical. It’s more subtle, but no less insidious or damaging.
> 
> Abusive characters (and people, for that matter) are not always straightforward villains. They may be charismatic and admirable, They may have meaningful reasons for what they’re doing. They may be sympathetic. 
> 
> None of this actually excuses any abusive behavior. Serif has his reasons, some of which are mentioned in this chapter, but at the same time he also knows how to twist his story to misplace blame and paint himself as an equal victim. He’s good at appealing to other people so he can take advantage of their good will to lift himself up in their esteem. It’s not always malicious, but it’s definitely selfish, and it absolutely facilitates his methods of abuse. 
> 
> I want to establish that when characters in this story downplay, rationalise or excuse Serif’s behavior, it’s not because I as an author in any way diminish the traumatic repercussions of this particular kind of abuse. The narrative will support this stance eventually, but in the short term not everyone in the story is going to immediately turn on Serif, not even when the extent of his behavior is pointed out to them…and it’s not because they’re bad people. It’s (hopefully) a more realistic portrayal of difficult it can be to orchastrise someone who’s deeply embedded in your community, and to take a hard stance on actions that were previously dismissed as not being a big deal. 
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to be clear about the direction this story is gonna take. There is definitely a happy ending on the horizon, so I hope you’ll stick with me until we get there. :3

Sans hadn’t had any time to learn to navigate the house in his short stay, so once he’d laboriously climbed the stairs (silently promising himself not to do that too often) he still needed to track down his target. Luckily his search was made was by an open bedroom door, and he found Serif pouring over a messy stack of files on his bed. There were several more piles on the floor, suggesting he’d relocated them from the study in a rush and hadn’t had time to find a better home for them. 

Sans knocked nonchalantly on the door frame, deliberately keeping his expression neutral. “Hey there, buddy. Mind if I come in?”

Serif’s expression brightened earnestly, pleased to see him. Sans might have felt bad for him if not for what he’d just learned downstairs. “Sure thing, pal. How are you settling in?”

Sans took a careful step inside, and gently eased the door closed behind him. The last thing he wanted was to upset Papyrus if he happened to overhear them. He knew Pap wouldn’t want to become a point of contention between them or cause any ill feelings, which was to be expected of such an awesome guy, but Sans had no intention of giving Serif the benefit of Papyrus’s mercy. He didn’t deserve it. 

“Actually, I had a pretty rough time,” he said, knowing his deceptively mild tone was far more unsettling than an angry accusation. When Serif blinked at him in confusion, he continued, “I kinda took you at your word when you said Papyrus was coming home, when it turns out you didn’t even tell him we were leaving the hospital.”

Serif’s expression became oddly blank, as if he couldn’t quite understand what Sans was driving at. Then it cleared, chased away by a placating smile. “Aw, geeze, buddy, I guess I kind of forgot. I should have remembered he was helping you out with your soul stuff. That must have been rough.”

Serif sounded sincere, which was all the more bewildering because he seemed to have entirely missed the point. Sans stared, feeling unbalanced, because up until now he’d thought he and Serif were similar enough to always be on the same page. “I’m not worried about  _ me _ , I’m worried about  _ him _ ! How could you do that?”

“Do what?” Serif asked, although this time Sans thought he could detect a hint of challenge in the words. Seri’s sockets had narrowed, his expression cagier than it had been a moment ago. 

“Leave him there!” Sans insisted, fighting to keep his voice down when frustration tempted him to raise it. The hot flare of outrage that had been burning in his chest cavity suddenly pulled tight, like a knot strangling his soul, and he took a shaky, calming breath. His doctor had been very insistent about his need for a stress-free, calming environment. Too much emotion, especially the negative kind, would exacerbate the ill-intent that still lingered around the wound in his chest -- a poison that hadn’t yet gone fully dormant. 

Serif’s shrug was infuriatingly indifferent. “I don’t leave him anywhere. He’s his own monster. He goes where he likes.”

Sans glared hard at his counterpart, trying hard to figure out of the other was being intentionally obtuse, or if he really didn’t get it. “You left him at the hospital without telling him we were leaving. You didn’t let him know I was coming to stay with you guys. You could have given him a shortcut back here, but instead you made him walk across town to get home. The surface seems great and all, but humans are dangerous! Something could have happened to him.”

“He can take care of himself,” Serif retorted evenly, unaffected by Sans’s accusations. His words might almost have implied some greater faith in Papyrus if he hadn’t followed it up a moment later with, “and if he can’t, that’s not my problem. It’s not like I haven’t tried, but even after all this time he won’t do anything for himself.”

Sans balked, the words as unexpected and cruel as a slap. He gaped at Serif, wondering how it was possible that he could say those words like he actually believed them. The warning pressure around his soul clinched tighter, making his throat close uncomfortable around his protest.

Serif apparently took his lack of response as permission to continue. He scrubbed at his face with tense, curled fingers, his expression contorted with aggravation. “I thought things would be different on the surface...that maybe all he needed was a chance of scenery, a bit if sunlight, and he’d finally grow up, but, heh, I guess he’s realised how good he has it here. No work, no responsibilities. He barely even leaves the house. It’s not healthy for him, but he won’t listen to  _ me _ . I guess I spoiled him too much, huh?”

He looked at Sans, a weak and brittle smile struggling to stay on his face. “I’ve been taking care of both of us, ever since we were kids. Did my best to give him the childhood I never got to have, tried to make his life easier when he didn’t fit in at school or couldn’t make any friends. You know what I mean, right?”

Sans almost winced, because even though everything in him rebelled at what Serif was saying...he did understand. Papyrus had always been different; too loud, too impassioned, never quite able to see the world as other monsters saw it. He was so full of energy and ideas, not many people could keep up with him, and few had any reason to even try...except Sans, who had been his brother’s only caretaker and confidant for as long as he could remember. 

Sans loved his brother, absolutely and unreservedly...but at the same time, Serif’s bitter admission did strike a uncomfortable note of discord in his own soul. Even if he’d always done his best for Papyrus, he wasn’t perfect. Of course he’d had the occasional frustrated thought, wishing things could be different; easier. Wondering what it would be like if Papyrus could make new friends so he’d have other people to lean on. Daydreaming of all the sleep he could be having if he didn’t have to deal with Papyrus nagging him awake every morning. Stupid, trivial, selfish thoughts that usually only crossed his mind in a fleeting way before Papyrus’s grateful, cheerful smile banished any idea of resentment. 

The simple truth of the matter was that it was worth it. Papyrus was worth every hour spent, every praise and compliment, every bedtime story and clumsy hug...but Serif’s life had gone in a slightly different direction. He had the duty of working with the royal scientist and helping monsters adjust to the surface world to preoccupy him, so maybe he found the responsibility of caring for his brother just a little too much. Sans would have said the latter should have been his priority, but then in his timeline Sans no longer had the same responsibilities or people depending on him. Papyrus was really all he had. 

It didn’t excuse what Serif had done, but it did help explain it. It didn’t entirely ease the uncomfortable twist of his riled emotions but Sans swallowed down the discomfort, rubbing absently at his sternum. “Pap’s a good soul. Maybe he just needs a bit of extra help coming out of his shell.”

Serif sighed, a a familiar tiredness shadowing his sockets. Sans was very familiar with that look, though he’d blamed it on the accident at the Labs and the strained knowledge of the resets. Maybe Serif hadn’t escaped that unfortunate characteristic after all. “Well, maybe having you around will be good for him. Just make sure you take care of yourself, okay pal? You’re not looking so good there.”

Serif stepped closer, gently pulling Sans’s hand away from where he’d been unconsciously digging it into the raised edges of his bandages. Sans quickly shoved his hand into his pocket. “Don’t gotta worry about me. I’m a regular lazy bones, after all. Just haven’t had enough sleep today to fill my quota.”

The familiar banter helped diffuse some of the tension, putting them back on more familiar ground. Serif’s grin quirked more sincerely. “Well usually if I need some good shut-eye, I try pulling out Gaster’s observation logs, but maybe you’d find these ones a little too interesting.”

With a neat sleight-of-hand, Serif brandished a fan of notes between them. Sans’s eyes widened. “Is that-?”

“The readings we took from you at the hospital, and some from where we first found you,” Serif told him, sounding pleased with himself.  “The doc told me I shouldn’t be showing you anything too ‘emotionally destabilising’ until you’d settled in a bit more, but...eh. If it were me, I’d want to see these.”

He offered them to Sans, who took them reverently. He scanned the pages quickly, his eyes only skimming over the physical observations and the summary of his injuries. He’d read enough about that from his own medical charts. What he was much more interested in were the additional readings Gaster had taken -- the trace analysis, the electromagnetic and photoelectric scans, the magical resonance frequency and matter-density wavelength measurements. Every test showed clear anomalies, with Gaster proposing the occurrence of ‘a traumatic temporal and inter-dimensional event of previously unobserved proportions’. It was as if the entirety of Sans’s being had been jarred from reality, and was still shaking with the aftershocks of displacement, although Gaster reported that the effects seemed to be diminishing over time. He theorised that eventually, the dissonance would fade, at which point Sans’s presence would become fully established and accepted by the new timestream.

Sans stared vacantly at the last paragraph. Fully integrated...at that point, there’d be no means for him to return to where he came from, at least not without an equally violent and devastating ordeal to rip him back out of this timeline...and he wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail, but he doubted it would be good for the world he left behind. Gaster’s notes obliquely referred to an additional summary on the possible scope and ramifications of such a procedure, but the notes ended abruptly with no further explanation. 

Sans glanced back at Serif. “Where’s the rest?”

“Back at the lab,” Serif confessed. “The next part is, uh...a bit more ‘destabilising’. You might need to wait a bit on that.”

Sans desperately wanted to argue with him, when time might very much be the determining factor on whether he got home or not, but the heavy weight pressing down on his soul warned him that he shouldn’t push himself too fast. Instead he turned back a couple of pages, and pointed to a series of equations that Gaster had scribbled down alongside his measurements from the scene of Sans’s arrival point. 

“Then how about you explain these to me?”

“Sure,” Serif agreed, pointing to the distinctive symbols of Gaster’s unique penmanship. “So here he’s using the mailbox as shorthand for the combined energy packet of an inter-dimensional breaching photon, and teardrop as the universal constant for a space-time interval marker-”

“Whoa,” Sans interrupted feebly. “I mean, uh. Not just the symbols. Explain the math to me. It’s been a little while since my last quantum physics equation.”

The expression Serif gave him was probably eerily similar to the one Sans had made when Serif had said his brother was ‘not his problem’ -- like he couldn’t quite believe they were the same person. It took a moment for him to visibly shake his incredulity away, though it was followed up by a shit-eating grin. “So to calculate the area of a right-angled triangle, you start with-”

Sans usually wasn’t one for violence, but he felt Serif probably deserved more than the weak smack across the shoulder Sans offered him. “Ass.”

Serif laughed, but obligingly summarised the origin of the equation, including the constants of uncertainty that were based on the few readings they’d taken from Sans, and the ones that were pure guesswork based on temporal theory. Sans only barely managed to keep up with it, his brain struggling to remember enough of his degree to remember how matter and space and time were related in a universe that wasn’t in a constant loop of repeating time. It didn’t help that Serif had clearly studied the subject extensively, and was delighted to ramble about an obscure subject of interest that probably only Gaster would be able to understand. Sans hadn’t been able to work up that much passion about space-time theory in years.

It didn’t take long for his waning strength and concentration to falter, and he swayed ominously on his feet before Serif hurriedly steadied him. “Uh, okay, wow, I didn’t think I was putting you to sleep already. Guess you won’t need Gaster’s notes for yourself then, huh?”

Sans laughed, but it sounded tired even to his own ears. “Guess not. I think I’d better get some food in me before I just pass out for the night.”

“Want me to get you Grillby’s again?” Serif asked hopefully. “You can scarf a burg while I remind you how negative energy streams work again.”

“Oh, uh...Pap’s cooking downstairs,” Sans offered contritely. “I figured we’d eat with him. Family dinner,  an’ all that. Help you two mend your bridges.”

A shadow of an expression passed over Serif’s face, so quickly not even Sans’s well-trained eyes of judgment could catch it, swiftly replaced by a slightly forced grin. “Guess we better go make sure he doesn’t burn the place down then.”

Sans chucked reflexively, letting Serif lead the way back to the kitchen, although a part of him wondered at how grim and resigned Serif sounded, as if he hadn’t meant it as a joke. 

 

* * *

Going down the stairs was only slightly easier than going up them, and Sans was huffing by the time they reached the kitchen. The room had looked stark and impersonal earlier, giving Sans a few suspicions about how often Serif preferred to eat out, but now that Papyrus had been at work the air was suffused with warmth and magic, and an impressive array of ingredients had been laid out on the bench top. Not a single one of them looked like any sort of pasta, much to Sans’s bemusement. 

Papyrus started a little at their entry, looking a strange mix of guilty and hopeful, like he’d been caught in an act of misbehavior but was desperately hoping to be forgiven for it. “Ah! Brother..s? Excellent timing! Your meal is almost ready!”

“Smells great, Pap,” Sans said habitually, the way he always did for his own brother, but in this instance he realised it was actually true. There was no smoke curling from the smoketop or the over stewed sweetness of tomato. Instead he could smell something savoury with a little spice to it; cumin and smoked paprika. 

From the corner of his socket, he caught Serif rolling his eyelights in a way that made it clear he thought Sans was just humoring his brother. When Papyrus turned back to adjust something on the stove, Sans glared back at his counterpart, and a silent but brutal war of meaningful expressions took place. He might understand Serif’s position a little better now, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook for abandoning Papyrus at the hospital. 

Even if they were nearly mirrors of each other, Sans was much more effective at wordless, judgemental expressions. Serif visibly winced, dropping his gaze. After a moment, he gruffly added, “Thanks for cooking, bro. ‘preciate it.”

Papyrus froze oddly before slowly turning to stare at his brother. He looked baffled, like Serif was the stranger instead of Sans. It took him a spluttering false start before he managed to day, “Y-you’re welcome, brother! I...this is a new recipe I wanted to try for you, so I hope you like it!”

Flustered but pleased, Papyrus began moving more quickly, gathering utensils and shifting saucepans with a deftness Sans wouldn’t have expected from him. Sans shot his counterpart a vindicated grin, but Serif had turned away, as if embarrassed by the brief show of emotion. Genuine affection didn’t seem to come very readily to him, but seeing the way Papyrus had lit up from even faint praise made Sans determined to encourage it. 

“What did you make?” he asked, gently easing into one of the dining chairs. His bones felt stiff and sore, and honestly he wanted nothing more than to collapse face first down in bed, but he could see the pent-up energy Papyrus was desperately trying to keep quelled. It was the same vibrating elation his own brother had brought home after every visit to Undyne’s, brimming over with elated inspiration. Whatever he’d been working on, Papyrus was intensely excited to share it.

Though just as he opened his mouth, Papyrus seemed to catch himself. He glanced at Serif, and then dropped slightly, his enthusiasm shriveling. “W-well, it’s...it’s nothing special, really. I know how much my brother enjoys Grillby’s cooking, so I wanted to try something similar. A savoury flavor profile with strong smokey characteristics and a smooth palate, so...”

He lifted a dish from the stove and presented it to them. It was a meatloaf, perfectly rolled and glistening with oily juices. The top had an artistic zigzag of red sauce that Sans’s experienced eye could instantly recognise as ketchup. The sight of it made his previously uninterested stomach give a rumbling query, and he could feel saliva well up behind his teeth.

“Wow, that looks incredible,” he said with complete sincerity. His own brother had never gotten further than boiling spaghetti, often neglecting to even take it out of the box first. Sans had eaten a lot of soggy cardboard in the name of keeping his brother happy, but it seemed this version of Papyrus was a far superior cook. He cocked his head, scenting the air again. “It does kinda smell like Grillby’s in here.”

“I doubt it’ll be very authentic,” Serif said, looking unimpressed. “Pap’s never eaten Grillby’s. He hates it. How would he know what it tastes like?”

The tenuous, hopeful smile that Sans’s comments had elicited vanished immediately at Serif’s words, extinguished. Papyrus’s shoulders sagged, heavy with shame. His voice was barely a whisper. “Uh. I, um. Researched. Based on...the ingredients, and...I even spoke with Mister Grillby, so-”

“You tried that? Ha! Did he kick you out after? Grillbz never gives away his secret ingredients. He’d go outta business that way.”

“He…” Papyrus trailed off miserably. His ribs hitched, like he was trying and failing to draw a full breath. “He-”

“Hey!” Sans snapped, giving Serif the full benefit of a reproachful glare, but to his chagrin, Papyrus was the one who flinched at his tone. “Your bro worked real hard on it. Be a little more grateful, yeah?”

Maybe Serif hadn’t realised what Papyrus was trying to convey with his cooking, but Sans knew because his own brother had plaintively and repeatedly bemoaned the fact that Sans often spent his evenings (and lunch breaks, and extra mid-shift breaks) at Grillby’s, taking solace in the food and company offered by the bar. Learning to cook had been a step towards luring Sans back home for meals so the two of them could spend more time together, and if this Papyrus was making additional effort to replicate Grillby’s cooking to sweeten the deal, he must really be craving his brother’s companionship.

Serif was frowning, and looked like he wanted to make another protest, but after a moment he simply waved a hand like he could shoo away Sans’s disapproval. “Sure, fine, whatever. Let’s taste it, then.”

Hope shone in Papyrus’s eyelights, and with a tentative smile he lifted his shoulders and took a step towards the table, ready to present his offering-

A pale blur of movement, too fast for Sans’s eyes to follow, streaked across the floor into Papyrus’s path, and before Sans could think to call a warning there was a startled yelp a tumbling clatter of bones as Papyrus tripped. Even mid-fall he made a valiant effort to protect the dish, but it slipped from his outstretched hand and overturned onto the floor in a messy splatter of tomato and grease. Sans didn’t even bother to check it before hurdling the new river of sauce between them, rushing to Papyrus’s side. 

“Oh geeze, Pap, you okay?” The fall had looked painful, Papyrus too intent on trying to catch the dish rather than himself. His knees had collided with an alarming impact on the hardwood floor, and Sans had seen a flare of inflamed magic shoot up Papyrus’s arm where his weight had come down awkwardly on his wrist. Sans uncertainty touched his shoulder, a pang of alarm running through him when Papyrus let out a small whimper, but the other’s gaze was focused solely on the catastrophic remains of his carefully prepared meal. 

A quick glance told Sans there was no salvaging it. The meatloaf hadn’t survived the collision, too fragile to hold together. Most of it had crumbled to pieces, and combined with the bright streaks of sauce it looked like something out of a human horror movie. All the carefully collected juices in the bottom of the pan were pooling on the floor, and even the dish had cracked from the fall.

Serif let out a disappointed tut. “Ugh, what a waste...and what a mess. Why you gotta be so clumsy, Pap?”

Sans barely heard him, too busy examining Papyrus’s stats. The fall had managed to knock a few points off his HP - a negligible number, but enough to unsettle Sans. 

“Hey...Pap, hey?” It took more than one attempt to get Papyrus’s sockets to focus on him, and the devastation he saw in his brother’s face was like a knife twisting in his soul. “You know, I was all ready to  _ fall  _ in love with your cooking, you didn’t need to make an extra  _ trip  _ to convince me.”

The wounded look faded, replaced by what looked like an uncomfortable grimace that was trying not to be a smile. “Saaaans-!”

“Grillby’s is a  _ dive  _ anyway. You don’t have to  _ fall over yourself _ to impress me. I already think you’re the greatest.”

While Papyrus was busy trying to quell his exasperated amusement, Sans managed to coax his hand up for inspection. The joints of his carpels flared brightly, extra magic having rushed to the point of damage to help brace the fragile bones. Thankfully nothing looked cracked or out of place, but it probably stung. Sans stroked the area carefully, not able to provide any healing with his own strength diminished, but trying to settle the agitated magic. 

The terrible puns were a good distraction, but not enough to keep Papyrus’s misery at bay. He hung his head, not willing to look Sans in the eye. “I’m sorry. I ruined it.”

“It’s fine,” Sans reassured him, opening his mouth to offer further reassurance, only to be interrupted by Serif.

“Yeah, now we can have  _ real  _ Grillby’s instead. S’no loss, really.”

That seemed to be entirely the wrong thing to say. Papyrus looked even more disheartened, pulling back from to cradle his tender wrist against his ribs. Sans looked at the crumbled remains of the meatloaf, thinking of all the work Papyrus must have put into it, and nodded to himself. 

“Nah, I’d rather have this, if it’s all the same to you.”

Giving Papyrus a pat on the shoulder, he moved to gather up the scattered chunks of meat, collecting them in the larger half of the broken dish. Collecting it up with his hands might not have been the most hygienic way to do it, and the food was still hot enough to scald his fingertips a bit, but the action managed to shock Papyrus out of his guilty spiral. 

“Wait, Sans, don’t-!” He tried to shoo Sans away from the mess of broken ceramic and spilled sauce, but seemed hesitant to impede him too forcefully. Sans just deftly worked around him, managing to recollect most of the larger pieces. It didn’t look like a proper loaf any more, just a mangled mess on a plate, but the meat was still moist and steaming gently, and there were enough streaks of ketchup left that Sans was sure he’d be able to cope. He’d eaten much more dubious offerings from his own brother, after all. 

“You’re nuts,” Serif said, sounding both impressed and aghast. He watched with a kind of horror as Sans redistributed some of the pile onto the plate that had been set out on the table. The rest, he carefully handed off to Papyrus, ensuring his hands would be too occupied to keep Sans scooping up a generous spoonful and shoving it into his mouth before he could think better of it. 

“Wait-!”

“Dude…”

He probably should have gone through what he’d salvaged just to ensure there weren’t any stray shards of ceramic in it. His tooth crunched down on something too-hard to be digestible, but since he didn’t have any flesh organs that could be cut on the edges, and anything non-magical would simply fall through him, he didn’t bother to fish it out. It barely made any impact before he was completely distracted by the flavor.

It was GOOD. Not exactly like Grillby’s, who had decades of culinary experience and knew certain tricks that only a true fire mage could manage, but the flavors were similar enough that Sans’s taste-buds were delighted and left wanting. The texture may have crumbled, but there was still the silky moistness of perfectly roasted meat, so rich it neatly hid the small slivers of vegetable Papyrus had included to perhaps make it a slightly healthier meal. 

But more so than just the flavor, magical food was cooked with feeling, and Sans could feel Papyrus’s; his intense concentration and careful control, the hint of wonder and delight of trying something new and difficult. There was a strange underpinning of something unusual -- a strange anxiousness that didn’t seem very like his brother -- but that was barely perceptible behind the powerful sentiment that Papyrus had put behind the dish.

_ This is for Sans.  _

It was a meal dedicated entirely to him. Sans could feel the fierceness of that emotion -- the protective affection, the desire to please, the warm admiration. It melded into his soul with a gentleness he’d never experienced, and he was so enraptured he didn’t even notice the quiet chink of the broken dish piece tumbling through the bottom of his jaw and falling through his clavicle. For the first time since the hospital, he felt calm; stable and cared for. 

“...Sans? Sans!”

“Did it kill him?”

Sans blinked slowly, reluctantly coming back to himself. Both Serif and Papyrus were staring at him apprehensively, though Serif’s was tinged with real amusement while Papyrus looked far more concerned. The taller skeleton wrung his hands anxiously. “You shouldn’t eat that. I’ll just throw it out-”

“No way!” Sans said, protectively curling his arms around the plate and eagerly piling more onto his spoon. “This is amazing! Pap, you’re brilliant.”

“W-what?” Papyrus stammered, flushing bright orange. “No, I dropped it, it’s ruined-”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Sans countered. “Better than Grillby’s.”

He took another mouthful, eye-lights flickering with a rapturous delight that left Papyrus gaping. Even Serif looked slightly perturbed, although he eyed the food with new interest. Seeing an opportunity, Sans nudged the plate in his direction. If he only tasted his brother’s cooking, he was sure Serif wouldn’t have any doubts about how much Papyrus really cared about him. “Try it. It’s great, I promise.”

Sans never made promises lightly. He could see Serif wavering, almost convinced, before he deliberately turned away. “Nah. I’ve got leftovers in the fridge. I’ll take that over eating garbage.”

Papyrus flinched, and Sans wanted to be more irritated about it, but honestly the wondrous food was making it incredibly hard for him to be anything but grateful and content. He pulled his plate closer again, loading up his spoon again. “Your loss. What about you, Pap? Gonna try your masterpiece?”

Papyrus looked like he wanted to object -- probably his standards of hygiene didn’t approve of eating anything that had touched the floor -- but something in Sans’s face must have convinced him because he tentatively leaned forward and took the offered spoonful. His face went through an interesting series of transformations. Uncertainty, suspicion, intrigue, satisfaction...then he swallowed, nodding thoughtfully to himself. “I think it would have been better with slightly less paprika, and more garlic.”

Sans beamed. “That just means you should make it again. Maybe tomorrow?”

Papyrus looked startled, reeling back from Sans. “You really...want that?”

Serif scoffed, sitting back at the table with an emphatic huff, a paper bag emblazoned with Grillby’s name in front of him. “Sure, it’s like dinner and a show. The amazing kitchen menace, Papyrus.”

His tone was just slightly too harsh to be considered playful, though Papyrus only looked dejected rather than hurt. Despite the buzz of good feelings thrumming through his bones, Sans felt a wave of irritation well up inside him. “It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident.”

“Pap’s always been a klutz,” Serif said dismissively. 

“He tripped on something,” Sans argued back. “Right, Pap?”

Papyrus looked uneasily between them, but Sans’s encouraging stare seemed to give him courage. “Y-yes. I think something ran into my ankle?”

Serif considered that. “Huh. It was probably that dog you keep letting into the house. I bet it smelled the food.”

“I don’t let it in!” Papyrus protested quickly, though there was a guilty shift in his posture that made Sans suspect otherwise. “It’s a fiendish infiltrator that doesn’t understand good decorum!”

Serif shrugged, taking a bite out of his burger. “If it comes in again, catch it. I’ll take the little troublemaker to the pound.”

Papyrus didn’t seem enthused by this suggestion, but kept his eyes down-turned. “Yes, brother.”

Sans looked between the two uneasily, wanting to intervene but unsure of how to do so without riling Serif and upsetting Papyrus further. Even though it frustrated him to do so, he held his silence, concentrating on his food.

He thought Serif was wrong, though. The shape he’d seen streaking across the kitchen floor hadn’t been soft and round, like the small dog he was familiar with from his own universe. Instead it had been thin and narrow, kind of like a bone attack. The memory made his mind immediately jump to conclusions, but his doctor had told him that paranoia and the mistaken identification of threats would be a lingering symptom of his condition, so he did his best to ignore his disturbing suspicions and focused on getting through dinner without any further incidents. 


End file.
